The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (67 page)

“Who are the
y
?”

Morgan balked. “I can’t tell you!”

Ben held his thumb over the iPhone screen. “I
’ll
send off this e-mail
!” He pulled the floppy disk from his pocket and showed Morgan his own handwritten note to Zachariah. “Th
is
note all by itself will
destroy your election prospect
s! I’ll
blow the story
right now,
unless you t
ell me the whole truth!”

“I’
m telling you the truth!”

“Names!
Give me
names
! O
r I’ll press the—
”

Porter
drew
his revolver
from
its ankle holster
,
threw the door
open
, and surveyed the room
. Against a backdrop of wall-to-wall books, Ben
Teller
stood with his iPhone in
one
hand
and the floppy disk in the other.
Governor
Morgan
was sitting
in an armchair
by the fireplace
, looking ashen.

“Drop
the phone
!” Porter
aimed the
gun at
Ben
. “
And the disk
!”

“
Stop
!” Governor Morgan leaped off the armchair. “Don’t shoot!”

Ben
glanced at the iPhone, his thumb hovering over the screen, seeking the
right spot
to
hit
s
end.

Behind him, Porter heard
sudden commotion. One of t
he Secret Service agent
s
yell
ed
something
, and then,
of all things
,
Fran DeLac
ourt’s voice
,
“
Porter!
It’s over
!”

T
here was no time
left
. Porter grabbed his
revolver
with two hands, bent his forward knee slightly,
and
slid his finger into the trigger slot
. He shot a
t the reporter’s iPhone
,
hitting it
, and s
hifted his aim to the face, right between those irritating dark eyes—

“No!” Governor Morgan jumped sideways
and collided with
Ben just as Porter’s finger pulled back the trigger. A shot sounded, Governor Morgan yelled, and his body twisted, turn
ed like
a screw
, and
fell over, taking
Ben
down
too
.

Porter followed, trying to get a fix on the reporter
,
when he
heard
two
pops b
ehind
him
and felt his own body rise in the air, propelled forward, out of the light and into darkness.

Lying in a heap on the floor with Governor Morgan, Ben’s ear
s
rang from all the shooting. The
room smelled of gunpowder. U
rgent voices yelled incoherent orders.

Morgan rose on an elbow, his face pale
, but strangely humorous
.
He said something.

“What?”
Ben’s
own voice sounded as if
he spoke
through a tunnel.

“Are…you…okay?”

Ben nodded.
“I think so. You?”

“Never better.”
Morgan
cringed as the two Secret Service agents turned him on his back. “Careful, boys!”

“L
eft arm,” one of them said, tearing off Morgan’s sleeve. “
Small caliber. Shallow flesh wound.
Get
me
the first
aid kit.”

The other agent ran from the room.

“It’s nothing.” Morgan sat up and held on to the agent. “Help me stand.”

Fran turned Porter’s body over and felt the crook of his neck. “He’s a goner,” she said. Lifting one of his hands, she examined his fingertips. “Prints were burn
ed
off. Who the hell is this guy?”

“Another Ghost,” Ben said.
“
It’s an infestation.”

“And you’re the bait.” She grabbed his arm to help him stand.

“W
hat are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass.” She
checked
him
all
over.
“
No bullet holes?”

“I’m wearing holy underwear.”
Ben
held up his
hand
, turning it, finding no injury
.
Porter
was a good shot, but Morgan’s leap
had
thr
own his second sho
t off target. Searching the floor, Ben found pieces of his iPhone. It was completely ruined.

“Looking for this?” Morgan held up th
e floppy disk in
its
cardboard case
.

Ben’s initial urge was to step forward and snatch it, but somehow the
Secret Service agent sensed
his intentions
and gave him a hard look.

Morgan
tossed the floppy disk into the fireplace, where it
shriveled and melted before igniting in a small puff of smoke.
“Win some, lose some.”

“I’m not conceding,”
Ben
said.

“I just saved your life. Doesn’t it count for anything?”

“Why did you?
”

“Had to.”
Morgan gestured
at the photos
on the wall, the decorated
service
men
looking back solemnly
. “Peer pres
sure.”

Ben
nodded
.

“Captain
Teller
is very
proud of you today
, son
.”

“You think?” Ben glanced at the ceiling. “Can they see us from the Celestial Kingdom?”

“I believe they can
,
” Morgan
said
. “One day we’ll both find out.
But while we’re still in this world, what would it take—
”

“I’ve already told you. A confession.
You owe it to Zachariah Hinckley.
”

Katie ran into the library. “What happened here?” Her eyes landed on Morgan’s bloody arm. “Oh my God!”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Do me a favor
. Show
this young man a copy of our draft press release about the posthumous baptisms. If
it’s
okay with
him
, send it out to our media list.”

The request seemed to shock her even more tha
n
the sight of the injury.
“
Governor, th
e damage from such
—”

“Do it
!
” Morgan
pointed at the door. “Now!
”

Ben followed her to an office off the foyer. She sat at a computer, did a quick search, and printed a one-page document
on the campaign’s letterhead
, which she handed to him.

To: Media List

For
:
Immediate Release

In response to questions raised by veterans’ families, GOP presidential candidate Joe Morgan confirmed today that, as part of his lifelong commitment to his faith, he has
in the past
served as proxy in po
sthumous baptisms.
Governor Morgan further
stated:
“The practice of offering salvation to those who passed on has always been part of the charitable spirit of our Christian faith, inspired by the writings of Joseph Smith
.
As with every faithful member of any religion,
one cannot
pick and choose which tenet to obey and which to skip.
Back in the nineties, when I served as lay leader of our Silver Spring Ward,
we asked
one of our members
to assemble
a list of names that included winners of the Medal of Honor. I personally served as proxy during the baptism ceremonies
—an honor I still cherish
.
But e
ven
though my intentions were charitable, I now realize that
,
for some
,
the practice
could be
offensive. For that, and for any pain caused to relatives of th
e fallen
heroes, my sincere apologies and heartfelt sympathies. We, as a nation, will only achieve a full restoration of our great American
future
by
honor
ing
those who made the
ultimate
sacrifice for our freedom.
”
Candidate Morgan
directed
all further inquiries to the spokes
man
for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City, Utah.

“
Clever drafting
,” Ben said.

“Thank you. I
’ll send it out now
.”
With rapid keystrokes she
copied and pasted the press release onto an e-mail, addressed it to
Media List
, and hit
s
end
. “It’s going to cost us a lot of votes.”

“How come you had this press release
drafted and
ready to go?”

“We have many of them.”
She
gestured at her computer. “
We’re prepared for every possible contingency.
It’s standard practice in political campaigns. Every candidate has skeletons in his or her closet
. The
trick
is to respond instantly
in the event a clever journalist
such as
yourself
manages to dig up something
.”

“You want to control the narrative.”

“Of course.”
She
took the page from him. “We
must
set the tone,
especially when damaging information comes out. We can
minimize the negative reaction by
dominat
ing
the news
,
present
ing
the candidate’s version, gain voters’ sympathy
right away
by emphasizing the—”

“Faith-promoting truth?
”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll learn,” Ben said
,
“
w
hen you become Sister Katie.”

He
found Fran waiting in the foyer. Do
wn
the
hallway, f
amily members and a few staffers
congregated around
Morgan
, who r
eassur
ed
everyone that he was fine.
Their eyes met, and Ben nodded.
The candidate smiled and winked.

“Let’s go.”
Fran held the
door.
“I need a beer.”

As they passed through the
gate
,
Keera
ran
up the driveway and fell into his arms
with tears and kisses.

They held each other, pacing slowly down to the street while Fran went to get the car.
Ben removed his camera backpack from the locked case on his motorcycle and asked one of the state troopers to keep an eye on the GS until the next morning.

At the edge of the lawn was a long line of
c
ampaign
signs. B
en pulled one out
.

Save
America’s Soul!

Morgan
for
President
!