The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (57 page)

In the mirror, Ben hardly recognized himself—the short, bleached hair framed a pale face, except for his cheeks, which had a reddish hue from a close shave—something he usually did once a week, at most. The bleached eyebrows stood out even more because of his dark eyes. But the most appalling was the loose white poncho, which completed the hospital-like appearance of a sickly
guy
in desperate need of a beach vacation and free supply of red meat and beer.
Or at least a cup of steaming coffee.

Waiting in his
office at the state police headquarter in Pikesville
, Porter kept glancing at the
pager
on his desk
, willing it to beep with a new message
from
G
host
.
Finally
it did:

U
R
correct. Found
his
GS @
t
e
mple
access
rd
.

This was it! Porter rubbed his hands
, contemplated for a long moment,
and typed a
final set of instructions
.

Send him 2
the
Celestial Kingdom.

Search
4 disk
/other devices & destroy.

The reply was exactly what Porter wanted:

OK. Consider it done
.

Porter removed the battery from the pager, dropped it on the floor, and drew his service revolver
, which he unloaded
. He kneeled down, held the revolver by the short barrel, and used the butt to smash the pager repeatedly until no piece was larger than a
penny
.
After reloading and holstering
the revolver
, he collected
all the pieces
of the pager
in a paper tissue, went to the bathroom
,
and flushed it down the toilet.

Just as one
s
aint
was leaving the men’s room, two others entered
. A
toilet flushed in one of the occupied stalls. Ben realized he had no hope of being left alone long enough to trigger the fire alarm. Giving himself a last glance in the mirror, he walked out.
But just before turning the corner, he
reached over his shoulder, peeled off part of the sticky tape that held the bandage to the singed tattoo, and reapplied it over the key ring and memory flash drive.
It felt very big to him, and as he rearranged the white poncho over it, Ben hoped the bulge wouldn’t
stand out to the casual observer.

“Ah!” Brother Pat cheerfully
greeted him
. “Feeling better?”

“Thank God.” Ben followed him, memorizing the way.

They
made two turns down wide hallways,
passed by several doors
,
and entered a large room. The space was divided by white curtains, similar to the changing room,
creating cubicles with a limited measure of privacy. B
ut here
the activity was more intense, and as they walked across the room, Ben heard
murmur
ing
and splash
ing
behind the partitions.

Pat held aside the curtain for Ben, and they entered a cubicle. The hushed male voices now came from all directions, pronouncing rapid incantations that merged with each other into an incoherent stream of words.

A stool held
a
container
and a folded white towel
.

After positioning Ben before him, Pat
unhooked a small rubber hose,
glanced at a piece of paper
,
and said, “Brother Sampson
! B
y the authority
of the True Church
, I now wash you for and on behalf of Aryeh Leib
Bel
in
ski, who is dead, and you take the endowments for him.”

Squirting
water from
the hose on
Ben’s
forehead
,
he continued,
“I
now
wash your head so that your brain and intellect may be clear and accurate.” Wetting
each of
Ben’s ears, he said, “I wash your ears so that you hear the words of the Lord clearly.” Continuing to Ben’s eyes, he said, “I wash your eyes
s
o that you see clearly and walk
in
the way of the Lord
…
I wash your nose so that you may smell…your lips…that you may
never
speak
evil
…
”

Too shocked by this flow of water
all over his
head and face, Ben barely followed the words while Pat reached under the white poncho and washed his shoulders, spine, and chest—“that
your shoulders be strong…your spine carry you…
your heart be a receptacle for pure and righteous thoughts…”

His
ribs, internal organs, and bowels received their due blessings for and on behalf of the dead
Beli
nski, “that they perform the
ir bodily functions,” as did his
arms and hands
,
“that they may be strong and do the work of the Lord…”

Pat
lifted the bottom edge of Ben’s white poncho and
said,
“
I wash your loins so t
hat you may multiply and replenish the earth and sow your seed for your posterity
.
”
T
he stream of cold water made Ben flinch, earning a disapproving glare from Pat, which instantly turned into a grandfatherly smile.

As soon as Pat completed the washing
and blessing
of Ben’s legs and feet, another man materi
alized from behind the curtain

In a scripted ritual
they must have repeated hundreds of times
, both of them dipped their
fingers
in the container of oil, laid the dripping hands on Ben’s head, and recited a
blessing that repeatedly included
the word “Sealing
.
”
They made him sit down and continued anointing him with “consecrated oil” that was turning
Bel
inski—by proxy—into a member of the Church and elevating him to priesthood.
T
hey proceeded to oil Ben’s body parts in a manner resembling the earlier washing part.

Having gone
fa
rther than he had expected, with the two old men smearing him with oil
as they
recit
ed
blessings
that
conferr
ed
priesthood on a long-deceased Jew
while their busy hands descended toward Ben’s private parts under the
soaked
poncho,
Ben
was overtaken by a terrible urge to laugh. To masquerade the eruption of giggles from his bell
y, he began coughing violently. Rather than scare them off, the coughing only invigorated Pat and his partner, who raised their voices and used copious amounts of consecrated oil to finish off the lower part of Ben’s body—for and on behalf of Aryeh Leib
Bel
inski, who must
have been
rolling in his grave—if he had a grave.

Pat offered him a towel while the
officiating
partner unfold
ed
a set of
undergarments, which Ben realized were intended for him, or rather, for the dead Jew who had just become a
proud
Mormon
s
aint.

Ben
quickly toweled himself under the white poncho
and let the two old me
n dress him in the sacred garments
—heavier than normal underwear, made of material that felt almost like plastic. The undershirt had the same markings as on Zachariah’s military-s
tyle Mormon undergarments
. The underpants had an exaggerated slit with an over-flap at the genitals, creating a visual emphasis of the duty—and ease—of procreation at every opportunity.

While the
two men
declared the dead Jew
to be endowed now
, by proxy,
with various
g
odly powers as a priest of the True Church
in the afterlife
, Ben
got his slippers back
on, shook loose the wet shield over the undergarments,
and with a mutt
ered apology
pushed aside the curtains and
left
the cubicle.

Chapter 57

There was no time to waste on plans
that had clearly
gone wrong. Triggering a fire alarm was not feasible, and he had to
find another way. According to Dreyfuss,
the
t
emple offices were in a hallway off the main entrance
. Ben
headed that way as fast as he could without raising suspicion.

Taking the left turn into the hallway marked
Administration,
he glanced
back
at the reception hall
. H
is eyes met no curious gaze
s
, as those waiting at the processing counter had their back
s
to him. But among the group, Ben caught sight of a tall figure in a white motorcycle suit
, white boots,
and a white baseball cap.

The
Ghost!

Ben kept walking, but his mind was swirling with questions. How had
the Ghost
found
him
?
Was
one of the ex-Mormons a traitor? Who? Powell? Streep? Dreyfuss? Or Rex? None of them had given Ben any reason for suspicion, but now he was under one roof with a killer!

He passed several open doors to
busy offices
. There were only men at the desks
,
some speaking on the
phone
, others typing at their computers. A large p
rinter spew
ed
papers,
and i
n
another
office a
TV
set
showed a bespectacled man giving a
sermon
.

At the end of the hallway he found a set of
double
doors.
A sign said:
Temple President
.

G
ently press
ing
the door handle
, Ben
peeked in
side
.

A man was standing at the other end
of the office
, feeding papers into a
paper shredder, which made
loud buzzing
sounds as each bundle of documents was chewed up by the blades.
It
seems like a reception area
, with a desk for
the
secretary, where the man’s jacket was draped on the back of a chair
, and two waiting chairs under a large painting of white angels with wings
.

Ben
hugged the wet poncho to his body to prevent it from rustling as he
tiptoed behind
the man, opened a
door
,
and slipped into
an
inner office.

It was large, plush, and empty of human presence other than the life-size oil portraits on the walls.
He
circled a
mahogany desk
and sat in a large
,
leather
-upholstered
executive chair.
The wheels allowed the chair to travel back and forth on a plastic mat
for
easy reach to the bookcase
s and filing cabinets around it.

In the top drawer he found personal letterhead and envelopes embossed with the Mormon official whose office it was:

Church of
JESUS CHRIST
of Latter-
d
ay Saints

James R. Benson
, Temple President