The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (63 page)

Ben caught the eyes of Joe Morgan, who was watching him with a pleasant, almost
fatherly expression
, except that
he blinked rapidly a few times. Was it nervousness or the dryness of the indoor heating?

“
Nephi predicted
,” Jeremy continued, “
the future of the modern
s
tate of Israel:
‘But behold, they shall have wars and rumors of wars, and when the day cometh that the Only Begotten of the Father—yea, even the Father of heaven and of earth—shall manifest himself onto them in the flesh, behold, they will reject him because of their inequities and the hardness of their hearts and the stiffness of their necks. Behold, they will crucify him!
’”

“Again?” The question came from one of the younger kids, probably Morg
an’s grandson
. “
They’
ll do it again?”

“I’m afraid so,” Morgan said.

“That’s right,” Jeremy said
.
“Nephi prophesie
d
it:
‘
Wherefore the Jews shall be scattered among all the nations…and the Lord hath scourged them…until they shall be persuaded to believe in Christ the Son of God and the atonement
…
th
at they shall believe in Christ…
with pure hearts and clean hands and look not forward any more for another Messiah…the Lord will set his hand again the second time to restore his people from their lost and fallen state.
’ And then,” Jeremy concluded, “after another
crucifixion
of Christ
and another
destruction
and
exile for
many
generations,
only then
will the Jews
finally
accept Christ the Lord and be
restored
back to Jerusalem for
time and
eternity
.”

“Amen!”
Joe
Morgan
looked at
Ben. “Would you like to give testimony before we
adjourn
?”

Shutting his eyes, Ben recited from memory the sentence he had first read in Zachariah Hi
nckley’s diary. “
Joseph Smith is the True P
rophet
. T
he Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which he established, is the only True Church
, and all other churches are false abominations perpetrated by Satan and led by him to divert souls from the path of the True Gospel
.
”

Everyone chorused, “Amen!”

Joe Morgan hugged and kissed his wife and each of his children and grandchildren. He picked up the letter, which had rested by his plate on the table, and beckoned Ben to follow him.

Outside the
t
emple, Porter found the white Ducati and searched it, finding nothing but a certificate of registration and an insurance card. The owner was a corporation based in the Cayman Islands. He tore both papers into small pieces
,
which he threw into the wind. The VIN on the motorcycle, Porter knew, would lead nowhere as well.

Driving slowly down the access road, he searched both sides for
the black-and-yellow
GS, staring deep into the vegetation
. B
ut the motorcycle was no longer
here
.

He stopped on the side and contacted the dispatcher on the radio. “Can you put me through to the guys watching
Governor
Morgan’s house?”

She did as he asked.

“Inspector Porter here,” he introduced himself. “Community Affairs. Who am I speaking with?”

“Trooper Baker. State
p
olice.”

“You’re doing security at the
Republican candidate’s house, right?”

“Yup. What’s happening?”

“Probably nothing, but I’m just out of the Mormon
t
emple
. Th
ey had a small disturbance here. Since Morgan is
a member of the LDS Church
, I’m checking in, that’s all.”

“Fair enough,” Trooper Baker said. “All quiet here
, but I think the
s
aints are ahead of you. We just let in a messenger from the Mormon
t
emple
.
”

“Probably a coincidence,” Porter said. “Can you describe him?”

“Some guy on a motorcycle—
a
nice one, BMW, black
and yellow.
”

“
Interesting.”
Porter forced out a fake chuckle. “It’s probably nothing
, but I’ll stop by to check.”

“Do you want us to pull the guy out?
”

“
No need.”
He
kneeled, drew his revolver from its ankle holster,
and verif
ied that
it was loaded. “We don’t want to overreact and embarrass ourselves or the candidate, do we?”

“No
,
sir.”

“
Right on
.” Porter
drove off
. “See you in a few.”

Keera was paged to call reception. Hoping
that
Ben
was back safely
, she ran straight downstairs. But
it wasn’t Ben. Rather, it was Fran DeLa
c
ourt
in her blue uniform and cap
. She was
chatting with the security guard
s
.

“Hey
,
”
Keera said.

Fran turned to her. “
Here you are.
What’s happening?”

“Same old
,
same
old
.” Keera
noticed
her
bag at
Fran’s feet. “You brought my stu
ff.
Thanks.
”

“If Mohammed doesn’t come to the mountain…”

“I’m sorry.” Keera picked up the bag. “I figure
d
I’d use the time
Ben i
s away to do all my overnights for the month.”

“So it’s not about our poor hospitality?”

“
L
isten, I got to go back to work.” Keera pointed up.

“You’re right to be upset.”
Fran walked with her toward the stairs. “Lilly is totally pissed off with me, and she’s right
too
. I
t wasn’t my place to
inte
r
fere—”

“You didn’t interfere. You told me I should leave
Ben
. That’s way worse than interfering.”

“I’m sorry.
T
aking the girl’s side is my weakness. I love him like a brother, but he’s got to do the right thing, you know?”

“I
sure do.” Keera raised her left hand, turning it to show the ring finger.

Fran’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “
It’s
beautiful!
G
orgeous!”

Chapter 61

The library was just as Zachariah
had
d
escribed it
in his journal
. The carpet was thic
k, the walls were covered wit
h books, and the furniture invited hours of pleasant study, especially the sofa set in front of the fireplace, where steady flames
glowed with
the blue hue of natural gas over fake logs.

Ben walked across the room to
the section of the wall dedicated to photographs of men in uniform.
Some of the photos were of poor quality, but
all
the men
displayed
the Medal of Honor—two
for each—e
xcept for the
photo of
a Marine Corps captain with dark eyes
that
gaz
ed
straight
into
the camera. There was only
a single
Medal of Honor on his chest because
, as Zachariah
had written
in his diary,
the
second
medal
was awarded after the captain’s
fiery
death.

Keeping his body turned away from Morgan, Ben slipped a hand into his pocket
and
pulled out the iPhone
. First he opened the e-mail he had sent himself with the attached folder of Zachariah’s trial and evidence, clicked
f
orward
,
and addressed it to
Ray
and to Dreyfuss with the words:
Publish Immediately!
He didn’t press
s
end
,
though, but instead minimized the draft e-mail for later sending. Then he
turned on the voice-recording application and dropped
the iPhone
back in his pocket.

Morgan came over with a silver tray. It held a thermos and two glasses. “How about some hot cider?”

“Thank you.”

Morgan placed it on a side table and poured.

There wa
s a knock on the door, and Katie
came in with a bundle of papers. “Here are the fundraising numbers for last week. The conference call with the bundlers is about to start.”

“Start without me,” Morgan said. “I’ll join in a few minutes.”

She hesitated. “They’ll expect you—”

“They need me as much as I need them.” Morgan
rested his arm on her
shoulder
s, leading
her
to the door
. “Thank you, Katie.”

When the door closed, Ben asked, “I take it she’s not
Sister
Katie.”

“Not yet.”
Morgan
smiled.
“
She’s still a Gentile, but we’re working on it.”

“Satan fights to keep every soul from the True Gospel.”

“Exactly. By the way, a
re you related to
the
Sampson Allard?”

“Not really.” Ben sipped, savoring the warm sweetness of the cider. “This is
very
good
.
”

“
Sampson Allard was a great man. Carrying such a
powerful name carries the weight of history
. It’s
the embodiment of our
divine
mission
.”

“
My mission is not so lofty.”

“Oh?”

“My t
rue mission is
the truth
.”

Morgan watched him over the rim of his glass,
expecting an explanation
.

Ben
said
nothing.

Taking a long gulp, Morgan
said,
“Brother James
knows the truth.
”

“Who?”

Holding up the envelope
with the emblem of the
p
resident of the
t
emple,
Morgan raised his eyebrows.

“
Brother James! Of
course!
” Ben finished his drink and put down the glass. “
Shall we discuss the truth Brother James knows about?
”

“
I don’t understand.
Don’t you have a message for me from Brother James?
”

“I have a message. Yes.” Ben gazed back at the familiar face, oddly close and real after years of seeing it only on TV screens—debating other candidates, extolling his own virtues in campaign commercials,
attacking political opponents without losing the joyous expression he always wore.
“What do you think the message is?”

“Excuse me?”

“No, really, what do you think Brother James wanted to convey to you
via a messenger
? What
message
w
ould be
so confidential
that
it must not be written down?”

“
Could be a number of things
.”

“
For example?
”