The Lincoln Myth (46 page)

The call ended.

“Elder Rowan sounded defeated,” he said, his voice not much above a whisper. “I have to say, I echo his feeling. We’ve been at this for several years. But only in the past few months has the goal come into sight. It’s been a long hard struggle to get this far.”

“I’m sorry I lost the watch.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should have anticipated problems and been ready to act. I could have sent my associates with you.”

“They would have been in the way. I’m the one who didn’t see it coming.”

Josepe let out a long exhale. “How about this? No more talk of defeatism tonight. Let’s have dinner somewhere.”

She was not in the mood, role or no role.

“I’m pretty jet-lagged. Would you mind if I just went to sleep?”

S
TEPHANIE HAD SET UP A MAKESHIFT HEADQUARTERS INSIDE
her room at the Mandarin Oriental, her laptop connected to the Magellan Billet’s secured server, her phone on ready. She’d brought with her Katie Bishop, who was in an adjacent room combing through Madison’s secret notes, harvesting every piece of relevant information that she could. The young woman was bright and articulate and had apparently taken a shine to Luke Daniels. On the cab ride over from the White House there’d been lots of questions on that subject.

And now they had the watch.

Luke and Cotton had been successful.

She stared at her screen and the video feed from Luke’s laptop in Des Moines. Katie had consulted the appropriate websites and talked with a curator at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History, who’d explained how the first Lincoln watch had been opened.

Really simple.

The back screwed off, right-to-left, counterclockwise, exposing its inner workings. The only trick would be to loosen the threads from corrosion, since they hadn’t seen any action in a long time. A few gentle taps in the right places was what worked the first time.

Which had all been passed on to Iowa.

M
ALONE LIFTED THE WATCH FROM THE DESKTOP.
H
E AND
L
UKE
had obtained a room in a downtown hotel away from where Salazar was staying, a video link established to Stephanie in DC.

He admired the timepiece, which was in excellent condition.

“Let’s try and not destroy it,” Stephanie said from the screen.

He smirked her way. “Is that directed at me?”

“You do have a tendency to harm things.”

“At least it’s not a World Heritage Site.”

From past experience, those seemed his favorite targets.

The encounter with Cassiopeia weighed heavy on his mind. They had a problem, and no amount of talking was going to make for an easy fix. He’d done exactly what she asked him not to do, and there’d be consequences.

He handed the timepiece to Luke. “You do the honors.”

Luke gripped the watch and tried to loosen the back plate. Stephanie’s instructions had said it could be difficult, and it was.

Three more attempts produced no results.

“It won’t turn,” Luke said.

They tried a few gentle taps to its side, as recommended, but still nothing. He recalled years ago that he’d liked a particular brand of citrus salad, oranges and grapefruit, peeled, packed in water, and sold inside a plastic screw-top container. The lid was always tough to get off the first time. Finally one day he discovered the secret: Don’t grip it so hard. In his frustration he tended to squeeze the plastic so tight that it would not unscrew. So he gently grasped the watch’s edges, holding just tight enough that his fingers wouldn’t slip.

He turned, feeling resistance from the tiny threads.

Another try and movement.

Slight.

But enough.

He regripped, kept his touch light, and freed the back plate.

He laid the watch down, and Luke pointed the laptop’s camera at the exposed gears and springs. Stephanie had forwarded an image of the inside of Lincoln’s other watch when it had been opened at the Smithsonian, and he expected to see the same array of etchings on the inner structure.

But there was nothing.

He and Luke seemed to have the thought at the same time.

So he nodded to the younger man.

Luke flipped over the back plate.

R
OWAN SAT IN THE SILENCE OF AN EMPTY SEALING ROOM.
P
EOPLE
had come to the celestial room, and he was not in the mood for company, so he’d left. He wondered how many marriages had been performed here. He recalled his own, inside a sealing room at the Salt Lake temple. Bride and groom kneeling, facing each other over the altar, their families seated behind them on either side. Both held hands and pronounced a covenant to be faithful with each other, and to God, and to keep His commandments. To be sealed in Jesus’ name, by priesthood authority in a temple, was to be joined for all
eternity—not just “till death do they part.” Here, as in most sealing rooms, mirrors placed on the walls allowed the couple to symbolically see themselves through their many reflections, together for all eternity.

And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven
.

Matthew 16:19.

To believe that marriage was forever only strengthened the earthly bond between husband and wife. Divorce, though allowed by the church, was frowned upon. Commitment was taught and expected.

And nothing was wrong with that.

He’d been praying for the past half hour, unsure what to do. He could not believe Heavenly Father had taken him this far, only to deprive him of the moment of glory.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket again.

He checked the display.

An unknown number.

He decided to answer.

“You didn’t think I would actually trust you,” Stephanie Nelle said in his ear.

“You set me up.”

“Really? And how did I do that?”

“I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to you.”

“I want your committee’s interest in my department officially withdrawn. I want you off my back, Senator. I want you out of my life.”

“I frankly don’t care—”

“I have the watch.”

Had he heard right?

“I sent my people in to get it, and they did.”

“How did you know I wanted it?”

“I read what Lincoln left in that book, too. I made a copy of the page before you tore it out.”

A reprieve? Second opportunity? “Do we have a deal, Senator?”

No choice. “We do. I will have a letter drafted tomorrow. My committee will say that we have no need of anything from you.”

“That’s what I want. Except I want the letter drafted and signed within the next hour, the original delivered to me.”

“Done. Now I’m waiting.”

“Open your email. I sent some pictures along with the address of where to send the letter. If I don’t get it within the hour, your little scheme will come to an abrupt end. You understand?”

“I do.”

“Goodbye, Senator.”

He tapped the screen on his smartphone and found the email. Two images downloaded. The first was of an open pocket watch. The second was a close-up of the watch’s back plate, inner side, two words etched into the silver.

FALTA NADA
.

Missing Nothing.

He thought of the map Lincoln had scrawled into the Book of Mormon, how every site had been labeled save for one.

And here was that omitted piece of information.

He smiled, stared up at Heavenly Father, and whispered, “Thank you.”

His prayers had been answered. Where a few moments ago he was stuck, literally at the end, now he was on the move again. Even better he didn’t need Charles Snow, Stephanie Nelle, Danny Daniels, Brigham Young, or any map Lincoln had left behind.

He knew exactly where his prize waited.

SIXTY

10:00
P.M
.

S
TEPHANIE LEFT THE
M
ANDARIN
O
RIENTAL AND RODE IN A
taxi toward the White House. She’d done exactly as Danny Daniels had requested, funneling to Rowan the information acquired from the watch. To further bolster her credibility, an image of the watch’s exposed interior had also been sent. Rowan, to his credit, had signed the letter of withdrawal and delivered it to the hotel, as she’d insisted. By now Salazar and Cassiopeia would know what Rowan knew. She understood the wisdom in what the president had wanted done, but she did not like the implications. Nearly twenty years in the intelligence business had taught her when to recognize an endgame.

The cab deposited her near Blair House and she walked the remainder of the way, ushered inside by the Secret Service and led to a room with yellow walls and a portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Waiting were Daniels and Charles R. Snow, 17th Prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’d already been told by Danny, on the phone, what had happened here a few hours ago with Rowan.

Both men appeared agitated.

“On December 20, 1860, less than two months after Abraham Lincoln was elected president, South Carolina seceded from the Union,” Daniels said. “The first state to ever do that. Over the next
sixty days Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas did the same thing. Then, on April 12, 1861, Fort Sumter was attacked. Five days later Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina left the Union.”

She listened to his voice, returned again to the same quiet monotone from yesterday.

“Right here, in this room,” the president said, “a few days after Sumter was attacked, Francis Preston Blair sat down with Robert E. Lee. Lincoln wanted Lee to lead the Northern forces and asked Blair to see if it was possible. Lee being Lee, declined.
How can I draw my sword upon Virginia, my native state?”

“That war challenged everyone’s loyalty,” Snow said. “Saints, too, had to make choices. Though we were far away, in the Salt Lake valley, the war found us.”

“Lincoln trusted you enough to send that document.”

“I’m not sure it was from trust. He had to quiet Brigham Young and secure the west for the North. He knew Young would never just take his word, so he sent something of enough value for Young to see he was serious.”