The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (61 page)

The only connection he could make was
the first pair of letters—the initials of Joe Morgan. But the whole thing involved Morgan! And what about the second and third pairs of letters?

The third could stand for
Mar
yland
, but what about the middle
pair?

SS

Then it came to him:
SS MD
stood for
Silver Spring Maryland
.

The whole thing
was
very
simple
:
Joe Morgan Silver Spring Maryland.

But what did it mean?
W
as Morgan in possession of the
incriminating floppy disk?
There was only one
way to find out
.

Ben
paused to orient himself
. He
figured out where the GS was and headed in that dir
ection. His left shoulder
was in agony
, and he
could barely move
his arm.

Chapter 59

Porter
heard the
word
s “Mormon Temple”
on the radio in his unmarked cruiser
and jacked up the volume
.
The dispatcher re-broadcast
an automatic notice that
a
n
alarm
had been
triggered by the opening of an emergency door. There was no 911 call
from the
t
emple,
and no smoke alarms
had gone
off
yet.

He responded
on the open channel, addressing
the dispatcher
while others could hear
.
“Inspector Porter here
, Community Affairs
. We handle non-violent incidents at religious institutions.
Mormon
t
emple procedure requires their permission to enter the premises.
I’m in the vicinity
and
will handle the situation. I’ll call in for help if needed.”

He
waited a moment to see if any other unit responded, which would be surprising. The Mo
rmon
t
emple was treated with wa
ry respect, almost as if it were a Vatican-like territory with its own jurisdiction. Hearing nothing more, Porter
turned on the police lights and headed to the
t
emple.

Ben
reached the GS through the bushes. Pulling his iPhone from the hard case,
he
turned it on and
checked Morgan’s website
. Quote of the Day:
Throw Out the Socialist Bum
s
!
The
candidate’s daily schedule
for this Monday included
a FOX News morning show
, a speech at a Norfolk, V
irginia,
shipyard,
a
lunchtime
fundraiser with technology executives
in Tyson’s Corner, and an NRA-sponsored town hall meeting
at the Watergate Hotel.
The evening slot was described as
Family Home Night
,
alluding to
the Mormon custom.
Judging by the time,
Ben guessed that
Joe Morgan was
already
on his way home from the Watergate
, having completed yet another successful whirlwind day of campaigning for the White House. T
onight’s Family Home Night
, though,
might not be as successful
as Morgan’s earlier events
, considering Ben’s planned visit.

Pulling the GS
out of the bushes and onto the road
left him panting and in pain
. But
there was no time to waste. H
e
put the helmet on,
mounted the bike
,
and
rode off.

Moments later,
Ben merged into
the heavy traffic on
the
495
beltway, which
carried
him toward Silver Spring
.

Just off the exit was a Walgreen’s drugstore. He parked, went inside, and
bought a bottle of water
and
a
dose
of Motrin
.

There was no one at the photo
development counter. The computer was on. He connected to the Internet
,
signed in to his
g-
mail account
,
and composed a new e
-
mail titled:
Marine
Vet Zachariah Hinckley
: A
Victim of
the
Mormon Church
or
of the
Morgan Campaign
?
Fitting the memory flash drive into one of the USB slots, he attached
to the e-mail a copy of
the folder named
Zachariah Hinckley – Trial Evidence and Proceedings
and sent the
message to himself
. A moment later, it appeared in
the mailbox on
his iPhone. He signed off
a
nd pulled out the memory flash drive
.

Locking himself in the men’s room
, he swallowed
the
two Motrin
pills and washed the blond dye from his hair and eyebrows. In the mirror, he was still pale, and his hair—while back to its origina
l dark color
—was still too short, making him look fifteen. But he didn’t look like Sampson Allard anymore
, which was good because
he wanted to
look like himself—to be
Ben
Teller
—
when
confront
ing
Joe Morgan
.

As Porter turned toward the Mormon
t
emple, he saw
that
t
he opposite l
ane of the access road
was
lined
with cars
. The
worshipers were departing the
t
emple
, which usually closed early on Monday afternoons in cons
ideration of Family Home Night
. But he was
the
first on the scene,
no fire engine in sight,
and that was good news.

A visibly distraught
elderly
temple worker was wa
iting
. “I’m Brother Pat,
”
he said.

Porter shook his hand. “We received an automatic
message
that an emergency door was opened. Did you have a burglary?”

“No. Someone opened it mistakenly
after the accident
.”

“
Accident
?”

He
held forth a pair of white sli
p
p
ers.
“
We just called it in.
Let me
show you.”

Porter
remove
d
his shoes
,
put on the white slippers
, and followed the elderly man

down the hallways to the
very
last
set of doors
, which led
them into the hall representing the Celestial Kingdom
.

Expecting to see the dead body of the pesky reporter,
Porter balked at
the sight of the Ghost
. He
grip
ped
the doorway
, taking in the
gruesome
scene,
and held
back a
curse.

“How did this
happen
?
”

“
The statue broke.
” Brother Pat held up the bell end of the trumpet. “
P
eople were leaving
the room
,
and
no one noticed
the poor sister
. She must have
tripped and
fell on it.
Perhaps she was
dizzy from her earlier injur
y
.”

“
She ha
d been injured before
?”

“We don’t know how
it
happened. She
had
arrived at the
t
emple
after being injured elsewhere
, though no one noticed.” He pointed to a bloo
dy towel. “She was covering that
part of her face.”

“Anything else?”

“
In
terms of the media…
all this could be
misinterpreted.
”

“How do you interpret it?”

“It’s all pre-ordained, of course.”
Brother Pat closed his
eyes
and quoted. “
‘
But their garments should be made white through the blood of the Lamb.
’ Alma, thirty-four, thirty-six.”

“Very nice,” Porter said. “Did you see, by any chance, a young man interacting with this woman?”

Brother Pat made
as if
he was trying to remember. “
I’m not sure.
Everyone was in great distress.”

“D
id you see who triggered the emergency door alarm
?”

“No. I’m sorry.
And
about
the media—”

“I’m here for the state police
, not the
news
.” Porter stepped closer and peered at the
sharp rod that
remained
of
Angle Moroni’s
trumpet.
“The Lord giveth
and the Lord taketh away.”

“God bless you,
O
fficer.”

“I need a few minutes alone
here.
”

“Of course
.
I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Chapter 60

Pulling
up to the curb
behind the
s
tate
p
olice cruiser
, Ben was
impressed
by the massive brick mansion at the top of a circular driveway.
Illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, t
he lush
shrubbery
and flower beds
bloomed with rainbow colors,
reminiscent of the
landscaping abundance at the
Mormon
t
emple
. B
ut the grandeur
of
Morgan’s residence
had none of the fairytale
whimsy
of the
t
emple
. Rather,
it evoked a British manor house with
its
sheer size, straight lin
es, and a
slate
roof whose long watershed was
punctuated
by
several
stone chimneys
.
The place projected an
image of
great
wealth and
power.

Ben took off his he
lmet and put on a baseball cap.

A
trooper emerged from the cruiser
.

Following
Dreyfuss
’s advice, Ben
smiled broadly. “Good evening,
O
fficer!”

The trooper nodded.

“Christ be with you.” Ben unzipped his riding jacket and reached inside.

“Hey!” The trooper’s hand rested on the butt of his
sidearm
.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!”

“It’s just a letter.”
He offered
the envelope
with a slight bow, as if handing over
a
business
card
.