by R. R. Irvine
“Goddammit,” Farley said. “Put the tape back on.”
Traveler touched her cheek, a signal for silence. Her skin felt hot.
“I think she’s got a fever,” he said.
She smiled. “The fire of the Lord is with me now that you’re here.”
“Keep her quiet,” Kirkland said, “and tell me how you found us.”
“You told someone you were coming here.”
“The hell I did.”
“Several people mentioned paradise to me. I put two and two together. Paradise and Eden.”
“I was born and raised here, but that doesn’t make me crazy enough to tell anyone about it.”
Traveler shrugged. “I got here though, with somebody’s help.”
“If you work for the prophet,” Kirkland said, “what about our ransom?”
“A man like Woolley would never destroy his church to save his niece, or even his own life. You ought to know that.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Farley, who had his back to the shaded window, emphasized his question with a wave of his shotgun.
“You can’t kill an angel.” Lael lurched to her feet, taking the chair with her.
The shotgun went off with a deafening explosion. Lael screamed and fell against Traveler, who hugged her to him as he dropped to the floor.
The shot triggered massive counterfire. The cabin shook. Glass shattered. The table lamp disintegrated.
Traveler cradled the woman against him, groping for the ropes that bound her. His hands grew wet, but he ignored what had to be blood and untied her.
Gradually, the shooting slacked off, then ceased altogether. A flashlight snapped on. Its beam found Wayne Farley, cut to pieces.
Kirkland redirected the light and exposed Traveler holding Lael. Her right shoulder and arm had taken most of the buckshot. One pellet had ripped open her cheek, narrowly missing an eye. There was a lot of seeping blood, but no arterial spurting.
She smiled up at Traveler. “Moroni’s touch will heal me.”
“I should have known better,” Kirkland said. “Now get over to the door and call off your friends.”
Friends would never have opened fire, Traveler thought as he made the journey on hands and knees, feeling for broken glass along the way. Direct hits had shattered the door in several places, but its mechanism still worked.
“This is Traveler,” he shouted through a narrow opening. “Hold your fire. The girl’s still alive.”
“The next time someone makes a mistake and fires,” Traveler heard his father say, “I’m going to shoot the First Apostle.”
Traveler closed the door and crept back to Lael. “I saw you in my dreams,” she said.
“We thought she was hallucinating,” Kirkland said, “because of all that fasting.” He turned the light on Farley’s dead face. “Look at Wayne there. She said God’s wrath would be terrible, that He would strike us down.”
The flashlight beam snapped back to catch Lael smiling. “See. She knows I’m as good as dead, too.”
“Put your gun down and we’ll all walk outside together,” Traveler told him.
“Who’s really out there?” Kirkland asked.
“Like I said, the First Apostle for one, Elihu Moseby.”
“No police.”
“Not unless you count the local sheriff. The guys with guns are church security. Maybe Danites. I don’t know for sure. At this moment, my father’s looking out for my interests. He’ll make certain we get out of here alive. You can stay behind the girl all the way.”
“ ‘The armies of Moroni encircled them about,’ ” she said, “ ‘and they were struck with terror.’ ”
Kirkland waved the light back and forth across her face. “We should have dumped her when they wouldn’t pay the ransom.”
“Say that again?”
“The girl gave us a number to call. It was supposed to get us through to her uncle, the prophet, or someone who could speak for him. We got through all right. You know what they said? They said they wouldn’t pay. We figured they were negotiating at first, you know, trying to buy time or trace the call. So we moved around and called back, using pay phones. Nothing changed. “ ‘No money,’ they said. ‘That’s final.’ ”
“They told me you wanted a revelation?”
Kirkland angled the flashlight so his face was caught in its glow. His eyes were on Lael. “We asked for a hundred thousand—nothing but spit when you think about the church’s money, its ten percent tithe coming in like clockwork. So why the fuss buying us off?”
“What about giving women the priesthood?” Traveler said.
“Jesus. You sound as crazy as she does.”
Traveler thought that over. “Who did you talk to on the phone?”
“He didn’t say.” Kirkland shined the light in Traveler’s face.
Squinting, Traveler said, “What did he sound like?”
“That’s easy. A deep voice. I had the feeling I’d heard it before.”
“God sounds like that,” Lael said.
“So does Elihu Moseby,” Traveler added.
“Oh, no. He doesn’t speak for God. My uncle does.”
“But one day Moseby will,” Traveler reminded her.
“Uncle Elton worries about him, you know. About the succession. I think that’s one of the things that made him get sick.”
“He’s better now,” Traveler said. “I spoke with him just before I came here.”
She sighed. “I should have known. My Angel Moroni has seen to everything.”
“I’m dead,” Kirkland said. “I think I knew it the moment that voice told me no money would be paid.”
Traveler shook his head. “If you let the girl go, she can tell them you want to surrender.”
Kirkland crawled forward until he was close enough to take Lael’s hand. His gun was within reach but still pointed at her, so Traveler made no move.
“You should have taken me the way I was,” Kirkland said. “I would have loved you then.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “We are commanded to do God’s work, to go among the Gentiles and enlighten them.”
“Take her and get out of here.”
Traveler lifted Lael into his arms and stepped to the door. Kirkland switched off the flashlight and opened the door.
Without exposing himself, Traveler shouted, “Dad, I’m bringing the girl out.”
“My son speaks for the prophet,” Martin answered.
Traveler risked a quick peek outside. Car lights came on to reveal his father standing in front of the cabin. Next to him was Elihu Moseby. Judging from the way the First Apostle was holding himself, Martin had the .45 placed strategically.
“I’d like to believe,” Kirkland said. “I’d like to think I was going to heaven.”
He pushed Traveler outside. As soon as Traveler reached his father, the automatic weapons opened fire again.
36
WHEN TRAVELER arrived at the LDS Hospital, an entire section had been cordoned off by church security. He wasn’t admitted until Willis Tanner was called to escort him personally to Lael’s room.
Outside the door Tanner stopped and put a finger to his lips. “She insists on seeing you, but keep your voice down. The prophet’s resting in the adjoining room.”
“How is she?”
“The wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. She didn’t even need a transfusion. She could go home tomorrow, though I think the prophet wants to keep her near him for a while.”
Lael’s room, complete with a picture window overlooking downtown Salt Lake, was large enough to have its own sitting area. Her bed was full-size, not the standard small hospital model.
She lay propped on a stack of pillows, smiling at Traveler. Her eyes looked as feverish as ever, though her fingers felt cool when she took his hand.
Tanner nodded toward a connecting door and mouthed, “The prophet,” before leaving the room.
“Sit here beside me,” Lael said without letting go of
his hand.
He eased onto the bed.
“You must think I’m a fool,” she said, “allowing myself to get involved with someone like Reuben Kirkland. I’m sure I sounded crazy to you there in New Eden, calling you an angel.”
“I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“Uncle Elton told me all about you. A man to be trusted, he said. He’s in your debt, by the way. He said so himself.”
“There are no debts to be collected.”
Her fingers tightened their hold on him. “I told Uncle Elton what I saw in my vision.”
Not knowing what to say, Traveler only nodded.
“I see what you’re thinking. It’s on your face. You think lack of food affected my mind. Or fear maybe.” She shook her head. “The veil between the living and the dead, between God and His children is very thin. That veil can become transparent at any time. It did for me. I saw through it the moment you came into that cabin. I saw you for what you are.”
“I’m a Gentile,” he said.
“You’re my angel.”
Her eyes closed. Her hand relaxed as if she’d suddenly gone to sleep. He freed himself and tiptoed from the room.
Tanner was pacing outside, looking distraught. When he saw Traveler he waved the newspaper he was holding.
“Look at this, Mo. A special edition just arrived.”
A huge headline read, RANSOM REVELATION. Underneath it, smaller print proclaimed, KIDNAPPERS KILLED IN SHOOT-OUT, PROPHET’S GRANDNIECE RESCUED.
“Read it,” Tanner said. “They know everything.”
Traveler scanned the text, which included details of the ransom demand—a false revelation, not the hundred thousand dollars Kirkland had confessed to. The story also mentioned Lael’s membership in the Army of Nauvoo, hinting strongly that feminists were behind the kidnapping. The Army of Nauvoo, the newspaper reported, was the subject of an ongoing police investigation.
“I don’t understand it,” Tanner said. “I thought I had a lid on the story.”
“Where’s Moseby?”
“Don’t box me in, Mo.”
“I told you why Kirkland was killed, to hush up the real ransom.”
“You don’t have any proof.”
“What does Lael say?”
“She wasn’t present when Kirkland made the phone calls.”
“Did you pass the information on to Elton Woolley like I asked?”
“He’s taking it under advisement.”
“I talked to Mad Bill before coming here.”
“So?”
“Before Newel Ellsworth was killed, he talked to Bill about Moseby.”
Tanner grabbed hold of Traveler’s arm. After a moment’s resistance, Traveler allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor until they were well away from the prophet’s room.
“He saw Moseby kissing his daughter,” Traveler said. “Newel didn’t realize she was his daughter. He thought they were lovers and followed them in a cab. They drove out to Magna and set fire to the house the Sisters Cumorah had rented.”
“With Ellsworth dead that’s hearsay.”
“Maybe they started worrying about fingerprints. Who knows. Whatever it was, it got Newel killed.” Traveler poked a finger against Tanner’s chest. “I would have known about this sooner if you hadn’t put Bill and Charlie in jail.”
Tanner’s tic started up.
“Like I said before, where’s Moseby?”
“I’m having him watched like you asked. Right now, he’s at the Lion House.”
37
BRIGHAM YOUNG’S Lion House was two stories of adobe and stone, dominated by a series of ten steeply pitched gabled roofs that created twenty back-to-back dormers. Each dormer had once marked the bedroom of one of Brigham’s wives.
Moseby’s empty limousine was parked in front. Across the street, a less conspicuous sedan held two men, presumably Tanner’s. Ignoring them, Traveler walked up the stone path. At the door, he paused to admire the sculptured lion above the lintel. The carving alluded to Brigham Young’s nickname, “The Lion of the Lord.”
Lights were on inside despite the late afternoon sunshine. The storm front had passed to the north, hurried along by a high-pressure area now centered over the Great Salt Lake.
Traveler took a deep breath of fresh air and knocked on the door. A smiling Elihu Moseby opened it a moment later. At the sight of Traveler, the apostle’s smile disappeared.
“Have you seen my daughter?” he said.
Traveler shook his head.
“She left me and went back to her husband.” Shrugging, he waved Traveler inside. “I thought she might have changed her mind and come back.”
The main meeting room looked as if Brigham Young had just stepped out, leaving behind rough-hewn pioneer furniture, old daguerreotypes, and handmade rag rugs. Even Moseby’s black broadcloth suit, the kind favored by the Lion of the Lord, made Traveler feel as if he’d gone back in time.
Moseby pinched his nostrils. “You can still smell the women in here.”
Traveler smelled only furniture polish.
Moseby ran his hand over the top of an antique desk. “When I’m in this room, I always feel close to those who’ve come before me.”
He moved to the head of a long narrow dining table, set with rustic china and silverware, and sat down. “Do you know what my daughter said to me? ‘Father,’ she said, ‘my husband, Seth, can protect me better than you can. Seth is closer to the prophet after all, related by blood.’ ” Moseby pounded the table. “The man’s a weakling. When I’m prophet—”
“I don’t think you’re next in line anymore.”
“God has spoken to me. I’ve done His bidding.”
Traveler settled at the opposite end of the table. “Too bad we didn’t get to talk after the shoot-out. I would have told you that Reuben Kirkland recognized your tabernacle voice on the telephone.”
“The man’s dead, never to be raised.”
As a precaution against the mad glint in Moseby’s eyes, Traveler slipped the .45 from his pocket and cradled it against his thigh. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”
“Proof, Mr. Traveler. That’s what you need. Witnesses to confront me.”
“I should have guessed that it was an old-fashioned kidnapping for money, not theology.”
“I was speaking for God. You, a Gentile, never had a chance. Your likes never do. ‘Divert the Gentile with the license plate,’ my revelation said. ‘Then call the newspapers and bring the Gentile running back when he’s too close to finding the girl.’ ”
“I suppose the women I ran into outside Paradise were doing God’s work too.”
“You’ll never know how much I enjoyed running you around in circles, to Paradise and back. My daughters loved it too. You should have heard them laughing when they told me how they’d cut you down to size.”
Moseby threw back his head and laughed. At the movement, Traveler’s finger took up the trigger slack.
“My daughters have abandoned me now,” Moseby went on. “They should have remembered all the years I’ve spent accumulating favors. Seven of the apostles owe me. That’s more than enough votes when the time comes.”
Traveler forced himself to relax, to breathe evenly, to ease his finger away from the trigger. “You still have to answer to Elton Woolley.”
“He’s lost his way and no longer follows the path of God.”
“And you do?”
“I’ve heard His revelations. By speaking to me directly, He has chosen me as the true successor. It’s Woolley who’s the false prophet.”
Moseby tilted his head to one side as though listening to further instructions. “ ‘Honor the old ways,’ God says. ‘Make no changes in My name.’ ”
Traveler brought the .45 up from his lap and steadied it on the table so that it was aiming at the center of Moseby’s chest.
The apostle smiled. “I fear you not, Mr. Traveler. You are not the hand of God. You don’t hear Him as I do. ‘I say unto you, ye must
watch and pray always lest ye enter into temptation; for Satan desireth to have you, that he may sift you as wheat.’ Do you realize what Satan has been whispering into Woolley’s ear? That women are equal, that we should welcome them into our priesthood. To that, I say—God says—never. For years the spawn of Satan has been softening up the other apostles. One after the other, I watched them succumb to the serpent’s tongue. But then God stepped in. Elton Woolley fell ill. If he had not, his blasphemous revelation would already be with us.”
Moseby lowered his head as if in prayer. “Thank you, Lord, for showing me the way.”
Traveler caught his breath. The trigger slack had been taken up again without conscious thought on his part. In that instant, he realized how badly he wanted to kill Moseby. Any excuse would do. Sudden movement, a threatening gesture, anything that would make the shooting self-defense.
Moseby continued. “ ‘Spread the word that the devil has risen,’ God told me. ‘Write it on walls throughout Zion. Bring the evil one down.’ ”
“How did you arrange the kidnapping?”
“It was manna from heaven. ‘Ignore their demand for money,’ the Lord told me. ‘Substitute Satan’s revelation. If Woolley gives in to them, denounce him as the Antichrist. If he does nothing, the girl will be killed so that all women may be blamed.’ As of now, the women’s movement is dead in this state. The old rules stand. Man must obey God. Women must obey their husbands.”
“God didn’t kill Newel Ellsworth.”
The First Apostle flicked his hand as if shooing away an insect.
Traveler twitched. Why the gun didn’t go off he’d never know. Sweat stung his eyes. His breathing grew so loud it echoed inside his head.
“That man was a hobo, a derelict,” Moseby said. “You should be happy that he finally had a chance to serve God. The shedding of his blood atoned for all his sins.”
By force of will, Traveler stood up and slipped the gun back into his pocket. “You lose, Moseby. I don’t have to prove any of this in a court of law. The prophet has already called an apostles’ court to try you.”
38
TRAVELER AND his father didn’t arrive at the office until noon the next day. By then, the celebration was well under way in the lobby. Half a dozen bottles of imported scotch and another half-dozen bottles of wine were lined up on the cigar counter. The eternal flame had been relit. Enough cigar smoke was rising from Barney Chester, Mad Bill, and Charlie to blacken the mural of Brigham Young on the ceiling. Bill’s sandwich board stood nearby, its placard blank.
