The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (65 page)

“
How do you know
?”

“I have a series of photos that show him—”

“Really? Is that so?” Morgan laughed. “Let me summarize your
plan
. You
’
re going to come out in public, weeks before the elections, and
make
accusation
s
against me
based
on
lip reading
of a dying man in still photographs
?”

Ben
nodded
.

“And not just lip reading
of a dying
man
, but
of a man
who’s lying
at the bottom of a ravine
because
he
ha
d raced his motorcycle
, risked others’ lives,
lost control
, and flew
over the cliff
. Did I get it right?”

“What about the floppy disk?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The one
with
your handwritten note on it, instructing
Zachariah
to steal
veterans’ personal data
from the
US government’s
computers.”

Morgan
’s
smile fad
ed
. “Never happened. It’s a lie.”

“According to his diary, that was the point of contention—it was the only hard evidence he had in order to force you to come clean with the public
about the heroes’ baptisms. T
hat’s why his house and office were searched
, his
religious status taken away, and
his life ruined
. He hid
the floppy disk
, and I’ve followed the clues he left.”

“Have you found it?”

“Not yet.”

“Because it doesn’t exist!”

“
It does
,” Ben said. “The last clue was to come here, to your house.”

“Well?” Morgan
gestured around the library. “Do you
see
it here?”

“No.”

“And you never will!”
He
went to the door. “This has gone
on
long enough.
You must leave now, or I’ll have you removed by the police.
”

The realization came
to Ben
suddenly
—like a recurring memory of Morgan leaving this same library while Zachariah was standing here, holding the incriminating floppy disk. But in the journal, there was another presence in this room
—an
old copy of the
Book of Mormon
, which Morgan had pulled from the shelf to convince Zachariah of his religious duty to obey.

Ben
scan
ned
the shelves, recalling Zachariah’s description
of his last visit to this beautiful home library. The collectible books were kept behind glass doors on the first two rows of shelves. Looking up, he read the titles on the leather spines until he reached the one that fit the description:

Book of Mormon

First Edition

New York

1830

Ben opened the glass door, reached
up,
and
pulled the volume out.
It was heavy, the leather binding rough, the pages thick and brown with age.

“What are you doing?” Morgan rushed over. “Give me that!”

“The first edition of Prophet Joseph Smith’s work.” Ben flipped through the pages, stopping at the one where the silk string was left as a marker. There, in the margins, was the handwritten jotting Zac
hariah had recorded in his journal
, star
t
ing with ‘
I presume the doctrine of baptism for the dead has ere this reached your ears, and may have raised some inquiries in your minds…’

“You have no right to touch this holy book!” Morgan p
ulled t
he
Book of Mormon
from Ben’s hands, and something fell to the floor.

Ben picked up the square, thin cardboard case, identical to the others he had found before. He could feel by the thickness that this case actually contained a
floppy disk. He turned it over.

Written by hand in neat, tidy handwriting, was this note:

Brother Zachariah,

God sympathizes w
ith
your righteous dilemma and good intentions.

However, your heart knows this: Lies + Disobedience = Sin.

The list must include ALL Medal of Honor recipients.

Joseph S. Morgan, IV.

“Touch
d
own,” Ben said. “
Game’s over
.”

There was a knock on the door, and
Katie
poked her head
in. “We’re ready for you, Governor. The
bundlers
from
Vegas
,
L.A.
,
and Salt Lake
are on video feed—”

“He’s busy right now,” Ben said.

She seemed shocked. “
Governor
?”

“
Not now
,” Morgan said.
“Continue without me.”

The door closed.

The first thing Porter saw
in the glow of lights by Morgan’s mansion
was the black-and-yellow BMW motorcycle,
propped
on its kick
stand behind the
s
tate
p
olice cruiser. He
parked
at the curb
and stepped out
.

The evening
had
brought temperatures down, and
Porter
buttoned up his police jacket while approaching the cruiser.

One of the troopers came out. “Are you Porter?
Let
’s w
alk you in.”

Going up
the long driveway, Porter glanced around at the artfully lit landscaping.
Near the house, a gate clicked open
.

A Secret
S
ervice agent
stepped out of the house. “What’s cooking, fellows?”

“
I’m
Inspector Porter, Community Relations Unit.” He handed over a business card.

The agent examined it. “You need face time with the
candidate
?”

“A
moment
, just as a courtesy. There was a minor disturbance at the Mormon
t
emple earlier
. I think he’d want to know the details before it hits the media
.”

“
Sure. Let me watch your gun for you.
”

Porter
unbuckled his service belt and handed it over.
“I understand he’s
already meeting with someone.
”

“Yeah,
a
guy came with a note from the president of the
t
emple.”

Gesturing at the street, Porter said, “
T
he
news
pests
will
arrive
soon
.
You might want to prepare.
”

“
W
i
ll do!” The agent beckoned.
“You go
right
in. They’re in the library.
S
traight
down the hallway
, first left, past the kitchen, end of corridor, on the right.”

“Thanks.”

The agent
turned to the
trooper.
“
Let’s set
up a perimeter
.
”

Following the agent’s directions,
Porter
passed by the kitchen, where maid
s
w
ere
cleaning up
. He
went
down the hallway
and found the door to the library. Glancing up and down the empty hallway, he pressed his ear to the door and listened.

Morgan’s eyes went from the old book in his hands to the floppy disk in Ben’s hands, back and forth. “
In the Lord’s name, it never occurred to me
.
So t
hat’s where
Bro
ther Zachariah hid it
…r
ight here in my house!
And we’
ve spent all this time—”

“
Looking for it? A
busing
Zachariah
?”

“He was…an ill man.”

“It’s the mo
ment of truth, Governor.”

Morgan
reached up to replace
the
Book of Mormon
on
the shelf.
He sat
down in one of
the armchairs by the fireplace and rested his chin on interwoven fingers. “Look now, this is totally out of context.
Posthumous baptizing is a charitable deed, but t
he
Gentiles
have a hard time
understand
ing
it
. Y
ou
’re
an intelligent
young
man, yes?”

“Go on.” Ben pocketed the floppy disk but held the iPhone
forward to get a good
audio
recording as well as to communicate a
clear threat
that he would send
off the information unless truth was spoken. “I’m listening.”

“We believe that
the
souls of those
who have not accepted
the
T
rue
G
ospel during their mortal
lives are in
deathly
abeyance, in suffering, in
something akin to
hell.
Therefore, i
t
’
s the greatest service we can provi
de them—an opportunity
to accept the o
nly
True Church. My intentions were pure!”

“Pure intentions don’t
lead to
stealing souls.”

“There’s no stealing! They have a choice—every soul can decide to reject the message of the
True G
ospel according to Joseph Smith and remain a Gentile!”

“If posthumous baptizing rituals are
just offer
s
to those souls,
which they can refuse,
how come you list them all—millions of
Jewish Holocaust victims, world leaders, and countless
others—as full members in the LDS Church’s membership rolls?”

“Because none of them
has
ever
refuse
d
!”

“How do you know?
Have y
ou heard back from
anyone
you’ve posthumously baptized into the Mormon Church?
”

Morgan shook his head.

“
Ha
s
your
p
rophet,
s
eer, and
r
evelator in Salt Lake City heard back from Anne Frank? From Daniel Pearl? From Simon W
ies
enthal?
Or from President Eisenhower?
”

“No
, because
no
Gentile
soul would refuse the offer to
accept the True
Gospel
,
embrace the
True Church
,
win exaltation in the afterlife
,
and be admitted to the Celestial Kingdom of God!
”

“You’re certain of that?”

“I am!
There’s no doubt that
every soul accepts
the offer extended through proxy baptizing a
nd posthumous
t
emple endowments! No doubt!
”

“
Your certainty is born of a
twisted logic
,
” Ben
said.
“
But
I’m not here for a theology
debate
. Not interested.”