The Lincoln Myth (52 page)

Rowan nodded. “You quote the prophet well. That is exactly how Joseph Smith described Moroni, and it’s how we try to depict him.”

“But he’s golden, not white,” she said.

“Our way of accentuating the brightness.”

But she wasn’t so sure.

She’d read once that Smith may have come across the name Moroni from reading the treasure-hunting stories of William Kidd. Legend held that Kidd buried his treasure on the Comoros Islands. Moroni was the capital city of the Union of the Comoros. Smith also named the hill where he found the golden plates Cumorah. Coincidence? If so, she wondered about the odds.

“This is an underground temple,” Rowan said. “Created long ago by the prophets as a place of worship inside the earth. Few come here anymore. But this is where Prophet Brigham hid what Abraham Lincoln gave him.”

She’d already surveyed the chamber. Except for the statue and the artificial lighting, there was nothing else man-made in sight.

“The one time I came,” Rowan said, “there were artifacts on display from the Spanish. Pieces of bone, buttons, bits of iron, and shoulder yokes. The yokes were cut from cedar, about three feet wide, with a curve in the center to fit the bearer’s neck. There were notches on each end to secure heavy, rawhide ore sacks. I was amazed how they’d survived the centuries.”

But no artifacts were here now.

“Where do we look?” Josepe asked.

“In a moment,” Rowan said. “First, there is a matter we must deal with.”

The senator pointed a finger her way.

“This woman is a spy.”

S
ALAZAR WAS SHOCKED BY THE APOSTLE
’
S DECLARATION
. “A spy? You’re mistaken.”

“Am I? Ask yourself, Josepe, how did she reenter your life? After so many years, and at this precise moment.”

“She’s been nothing but helpful.”

“As spies are. How else can they ingratiate themselves? You pressed me yesterday about how I learned of this place. I finally revealed that I possessed a source within the government, one who is close to our enemies. That source told me not only this location, but that this woman is working for the president of the United States.”

“And you believed that?” Cassiopeia asked. “Of course your enemies want to create confusion in your ranks. What better way than to provide false information.”

“How did that source know your exact name?” Rowan asked. “How did the source even know you existed?”

Salazar waited for a reply.

“I can only assume,” she said, “that your source is in the intelligence business, aware of what that man Malone has been doing.”

“Interesting you mention his name. My source also said you not only know Cotton Malone, but that you are romantically linked with him.”

“Is that true?” Salazar demanded, his voice rising.

C
ASSIOPEIA FELT CAGED
.

Stephanie had intentionally compromised her, surely in response to her breaking off all contact and stealing the watch.

She heard the anger in Josepe’s question.

Two options.

Lie or tell the truth.

S
ALAZAR WAITED FOR AN ANSWER, UNSURE WHAT MIGHT COME
from Cassioepia’s mouth. The fact that she’d not instantly denied the accusation gave him pause. His heart thudded, and his breathing had gone shallow. His head spun.

The angel appeared.

Hovering near the statue of Moroni, the face unadorned with its usual reassuring smile.

“We might have been wrong about her.”

He could not reply, so he simply shook his head, ever so gently, refusing to acknowledge the fact.

“Do not be ashamed, Josepe. The time for pretense is over. Reveal me to them. Let them know that the prophets are with you.”

He’d never spoken of the angel to anyone.

“What are you looking at?” Rowan asked him.

He ignored the elder and focused on the vision.

“Protect me.”

And he saw something on the angel’s face he’d never before seen.

Concern.

His right hand plunged beneath his jacket and found the gun.

S
TEPHANIE HAD SLOWLY WORKED HER WAY THROUGH THE PASSAGE
, following lights toward voices. She’d traversed one small chamber, then found a larger one, slipping inside unnoticed among more illuminated rock formations. She’d listened as Rowan, Salazar, and Cassiopeia talked, Salazar angry over what Rowan had revealed.

“Josepe,” Rowan said. “I speak the truth. This woman is a spy. She’s no different from those who turned on us during the Time of Troubles. How many of our brothers went to prison thanks to spies? I’m your elder. I have never lied to you, and I am not lying now.”

But Salazar’s focus was not on the senator, but toward the statue on the plinth, his eyes far off, head toward the cavern ceiling.

Odd.

Salazar’s right hand held a gun.

Stephanie found her own weapon.

No.

That would only inflame the situation.

There was just one way. She’d been unsure what to do when she entered, but now the path was clear. She laid the gun down, stepped from her hiding place, and called out, “He’s telling the truth.”

All three whirled her way.

“I’m his source.”

R
OWAN WAS SHOCKED AT
S
TEPHANIE
N
ELLE’S APPEARANCE
.

She had no business here.

He watched as she slowly approached. Salazar’s weapon was now trained on her, and he did not like the wild look in the Spaniard’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Salazar demanded.

“Stephanie Nelle. United States Justice Department. Tell him, Cassiopeia. Tell him the truth.”

“What truth?” Salazar called out.

Nelle kept her eyes locked on Vitt. “Tell him what you’ve wanted to say to him.”

“Rowan is right. I am a spy.”

An incredulous look came over Salazar’s face. “That can’t be. I refuse to believe that.”

“It’s true,” Vitt said. “This woman asked me to make contact with you on behalf of the American government, and I did. But I stayed on my own.” She paused. “I remember you as a good, kind, gentle man. Those memories were dear and precious. What happened, Josepe? What changed your soul?”

Salazar did not answer. Instead his attention seemed again diverted to the statue, lips moving but no sound emanating.

“What is it you see?” Vitt asked.

“Brother Salazar,” Rowan said.

“The Prophet Joseph is here. He has been with me for some time.” Salazar pointed with his gun at Vitt. “He, too, was deceived by you.”

“She’s not the only one who fooled you,” Nelle said, pointing his way.

“The senator is a spy, too.”

SIXTY-SEVEN

L
UKE MEANT WHAT HE
’
D TOLD
M
ALONE.
H
E HAD HIS BACK
. Stephanie had misled them both and was now in deep trouble. They had to work this together. No bickering, no debate. Malone had read Cassiopeia Vitt perfectly in Iowa, staying one step ahead. He also knew Stephanie better than Luke did. Unfortunately for them both, they were now at least two steps behind the pack.

They’d jogged up the forested incline. Inside the tunnel they’d quickly reconnoitered a small lit chamber, then fled out another tunnel that led to a second interior hall. Everything was surreal, the rock formations like works of art, the lights working as paint on a canvas.

Malone raised a hand and signaled for them to stop.

Voices could be heard beyond the tunnel’s exit.

They crept close to the end and he could see Vitt, Rowan, and Salazar, a gun in Salazar’s hand pointed directly at Stephanie, who stood twenty feet from the Spaniard, her arms in the air.

His first instinct was to burst in.

They had two guns to Salazar’s one.

But Malone seemed to read his mind and shook his head.