She stopped eating and seemed to focus on what he was saying. “What will you do if you’re able to actually leave the United States?”
“We shall live as the prophets intended. We have managed our resources wisely. The church owns billions of euros in assets all around the world, with little to no debt. We are smart, capable, and self-sufficient, more solvent than any government in the world. We also have extensive management expertise. It will be nothing at all for us to take charge of our own government.”
“And who will head this?”
“The prophet, of course. That man is, and will remain, our leader on this earth. Soon that will be Elder Rowan.”
He reached for his briefcase and found a sheaf of papers.
“All of this was foretold long ago. In 1879, by the third prophet, John Taylor. Listen to what he said. The day is not far distant when this nation will be shaken from centre to circumference. And now, you may write it down, any of you, and I will prophesy it in the name of God. And then will be fulfilled that prediction to be found in one of the revelations given through the Prophet Joseph Smith. Those who will not take up their sword to fight against their neighbor will flee to Zion for safety. And they will come, saying, we do not know anything of the principles of your religion, but we perceive that you are an honest community, you administer justice and righteousness, and we want to live with you and receive the protection of your law. But as for your religion we will talk about that some other time. Will we protect such people? Yes, all honorable men. When the people shall have torn to shreds the Constitution of the United States the Elders of Israel will be found holding it up to the nations of the earth and proclaiming liberty and equal rights to all men, and extending the hand of fellowship to the oppressed of all nations. This is part of the program, and as long as we do what is right and fear God, he will help us and stand by us under all circumstances.
“I didn’t make this up. Taylor said it, in public. Now Elder Rowan will fulfill this prophecy.” He paused. “But not without our help. We’re headed at this moment to find the last piece of the puzzle to make it all happen.”
He told her about Lincoln’s watch and what may await inside.
“It’s a long shot,” she said.
He nodded. “One we have to take. If it proves false, we’ll try another tack.”
“I can get it for you,” she said.
“You?”
“Certainly not you. What would Elder Rowan say if a respected member of the First Quorum of the Seventy is caught trying to steal a historic artifact? I have no connection to him or the church. I can make it happen. And I won’t get caught.”
He loved her confidence. His mother had been a gentle, kind, quiet woman concerned only with her family. Cassiopeia was so different. There was an intense energy about her he found irresistible. She would make a fitting start to his burgeoning new family. With all of the changes coming, he’d decided to practice plural marriage, since he doubted the angel, Joseph Smith himself, would expect anything less. But with Cassiopeia’s reawakening he would now have a faithful partner, a true believer, to ensure that their extended family would be forever together in heaven.
“Think of it,” he said. “We will finally have a land that is ours. The nation of Deseret, as Prophet Brigham intended. We will be free to make our own laws and live in our own way. It will be a good, fruitful place, one where people will flock to live among us and all will be right.”
CASSIOPEIA COULD HARDLY BELIEVE WHAT SHE WAS HEARING, but the simple force of Josepe’s words was proof enough that this was real. Apparently, though, neither Josepe nor this Senator Rowan had considered the international ramifications from the dissolution of the United States. And how would Washington respond to a secession? Threats? For sure. Force? That would have to be carefully thought through. Most likely, the response would come in court.
“You realize that the federal government will try and stop Utah,” she said.
“Certainly. But what we seek will ensure that legal battle will be lost by them. And how could it not? The American Founding Fathers’ own words on the subject would be decisive. A document, signed by them all, that says secession is allowed. That would carry the same weight as the Constitution itself.”
“Except that it apparently wasn’t ratified by the states.”
“But it is their written intent, and that cannot be ignored. We have teams of lawyers who have studied this from every angle. They are convinced this will succeed. The U.S. Supreme Court itself disallowed secession long ago, but that entire opinion was predicated on there being nothing contrary in American jurisprudence. Yet actually, there is. Something directly contrary. Americans place great faith in what their founders intended. Their constitutional precedents are all based on that intent.”
What he said was true.
Stare decisis.
To stand by that which is decided.
“It will prove impossible for the courts to ignore reality. Then look at what President Abraham Lincoln did. Instead of telling the nation that states had a choice as to whether they wanted to be part of the Union, he hid the evidence of that away and fought a war to prove the contrary. How do you suppose that will be viewed?”
Not good. “Does this document actually exist?”
“That’s what you and I are going to determine. It did once, and we think it still does.”
She now understood why Stephanie Nelle had been so tense. Sure, political unrest existed in the United States, as it did in other parts of the world. Calls for radical change were nothing new. But having the legal means to actually effect that change was an entirely different matter.
She got it.
This was a problem.
But knowing its extent changed nothing.
She still intended to do this her way.
FIFTY-TWO
MALONE WAS STRAPPED INTO THE REAR SEAT OF AN F-15E Strike Eagle, cruising over the southern tip of Greenland. An air force pilot out of Germany occupied the front seat, flying the aircraft. But Malone had taken the controls a bit, once again in command of a fighter. It had been twenty years since he last flew one, thanks to a switch in career paths while in the navy that sent him to the JAG corps.
Stephanie had arranged for a helicopter ride from Salzburg to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany. There the Strike Eagle had waited, engines running, and they’d immediately headed west across Europe toward the open Atlantic. It was 4,600 miles to Des Moines but, at Mach 2 the flight time was less than five hours. Of course, that meant an in-flight refueling, and a KC-10 Extender tanker now hovered ahead of them, its aerial boom captured by the fighter’s probe.
“I appreciate this ride,” he said into his mouthpiece.
Stephanie was on the radio’s other end. “I thought you’d like that.”
He listened as she told him about what they’d found at Montpelier. The channel was scrambled and secure, the best place for them to talk, the pilot’s headset switched off for the time being.
“Rowan is trying to dissolve the United States,” she said. “And he just might be able to do it.”
She filled his ears with more bad news about what Rowan and Salazar were after. A document signed by the Founding Fathers.
“The White Horse Prophecy,” he said. “Did you check it out?”
“I did, as I’m sure you did, too.”
“The whole thing is regarded as crap by the Mormon Church. It was officially disavowed in 1918. The church today doesn’t even recognize it as credible. Just a fable, nothing more.”
“But Rowan believes it’s real, and what he’s after is also real. Unfortunately, the Mormon Church knows more about this than we do.”
He agreed. That was a problem.
“We’ve done some research on this end,” she said. “We think Salazar may be after something in a traveling Lincoln exhibit that’s currently in Des Moines.”
“Research my ass. You tapped somebody’s phone.”
She chuckled. “Of cours
e we did. Rowan and Salazar spoke about the exhibit a few hours ago. They think a watch owned by Lincoln might hold the key.”
He gave that some thought. “The reference to Romans 13:11 is all about time. And I specifically remember reading a few years ago about a Lincoln watch in the Smithsonian with something etched inside.”
“That memory of yours comes in handy sometimes. The watch in Iowa is a second Lincoln timepiece the Smithsonian owns. It’s never been opened. It’s on exhibit at a place called Salisbury House, until tomorrow.”
He checked his own watch. “We’re going to be on the ground there, with the time difference, around 1:00 P.M. Salazar’s Learjet won’t make it until around 5:00 P.M. Iowa time. That gives us a chance to scope things out.”
“Luke’s there by now. I’ll have him meet you.”
“We’re going to land north of Des Moines at a place called Ankeny Regional Airport. Its runway is only 5,500 feet. This fighter requires 6,000 feet, but we’ll do it. We’re going to need a waiver so we can land there.”
“I’ll handle it. They’ll be no problem. Luke will be waiting.
“We’ve studied the images Luke made of the Rushton journal,” Stephanie said. “Research tells me that it was probably written post-1890. That’s fifty years past when Smith first uttered the White Horse Prophecy. So you’re right. The whole prediction about the Constitution is suspect, most likely written long after everything happened.”
“When you read the prophecy, it’s just too right. The references are nearly dead-on. Like at one point it specifically says that You will go to the Rocky Mountains and you will be a great and mighty people established there, which I will call the White Horse of peace and safety. Why say Rocky Mountains? Why not you will go west. Supposedly, Joseph Smith said that years before anyone thought of migrating. No seer is that good.”
“But finding that journal is significant since, before now, all the Mormon Church had was other accounts of what the prophecy entailed. Now Rushton’s own words give new credibility to things. We can’t ignore this.”
And one other thing. “The Constitution actually is hanging by a thread, and the Mormon Church holds the key.”
“We followed Rowan this morning to a meeting with the Utah congressional delegation and listened in. They’re ready to move on Utah’s secession. They have the votes and the political support. The people themselves may well sanction the move. All they need is that document signed in Philadelphia.”
But that wasn’t the only thing dangling.
“Any word from Cassiopeia?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’re going to have to lasso her in. She could screw all this up.”
“She’s a pro, Stephanie. No matter what, if she realizes the implications, she’ll handle it.”
“That’s just it, Cotton. We have no idea what Salazar has shared with her. It might not be enough for her to know what’s at stake. We need her out of this.”
He knew what that meant. “I’ll take care of that. No need to involve other agents. Let me handle her.”
“Can you?”
“What is it with you and Frat Boy? Both of you seem to think I’m some lovesick puppy. I can deal with Cassiopeia.”
“Okay. You get first crack. If she doesn’t stand down, then it’s my turn.”
LUKE DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR THROUGH THE STREETS OF DES Moines. The day was overcast, temperatures in the midsixties. He’d slept nearly the entire flight west on a military transport from Andrews Air Force Base to an Air National Guard facility outside town. His body was seriously jet-lagged, but he was accustomed to that feeling.
Stephanie had already informed him that they thought a place called Salisbury House may be Salazar’s destination, so he was driving there to give the locale a quick once over. She’d told him that Malone was on his way, but she’d yet to say when and where he was to meet the old-timer.
He followed the map app on his phone and entered a quiet neighborhood west of downtown. Salisbury House sat on the crest of a hill among a forest of oaks. The manor looked like something from the English countryside, built of flint, stone, and brick, with gables and a tiled roof. A placard out front detailed how it had once been a private residence, built by a wealthy Des Moines family. Now it was owned by a foundation.
Nobody was around.
But it was just after 10:00 A.M. He knew the Lincoln exhibit inside did not open until 6:00 P.M., this its last day before moving on to its next location.
He wheeled the car past the house. He was hungry and decided some pancakes and sausage would be good.
But first he had to make a call.
He eased the car onto the street’s grassy shoulder, trees casting the pavement in deep shadows. He found his phone and dialed his mother. When she answered he said, “I need to know something. Were Dad and Danny okay when Dad died?”
“I’ve wondered when we would have this talk.”
“Seems everyone was in the know but me and my brothers.”
He told her about the envelope.
“I made sure your father and his brother made their peace.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not want him to go to his grave with that unresolved. And neither did he, by the way. He was glad it was done.”
“Why didn’t he tell us himself?”
“There was too much happening. My God, Luke, he died so quickly. We decided to leave that till later.”
“It’s been thirteen years.”
“It was for your uncle to decide the time. We all agreed on that.”
“Why were Dad and Danny never close?” He truly wanted to know.
“Since childhood, they never were like brothers. Just not close. No one thing kept them apart. Over time, the distance between them grew and they both became accustomed to it. Then Mary died. Your father and your aunt blamed Danny.”
“But not you.”
“That would have been wrong. Danny worshiped Mary. She was everything to him. He didn’t kill her. It was a terrible accident. And Danny dealt with his pain by ignoring it. That’s not healthy, but it’s Danny’s way. I know, though, how much he’s suffered.”
He recalled what his uncle had said. “Danny said you dumped him.”
She laughed. “That I did. He and I dated a few times. But once I met your father that was it for me. Another man never entered my thoughts. I always understood Danny, though. I may be one of the few who do. Your cousin’s death sucked the life from him. Then he watched as his brother raised four strapping boys in a happy family. That had to be tough. Jealousy is not Danny’s style, but every time he looked at us he had to think of what might have been—if he’d just smoked outside.”
He could only imagine that guilt.
“Danny chose to deal with his loss by looking the other way. That’s why he never went to the grave. He simply couldn’t. Your father came to understand that. God bless him. He was such a good man. I was there when he wrote the note. There when he and Danny said their goodbyes. That happened just before we told you boys that your father was dying.”
His contact with his uncle had always been minimal, little to nothing in fact, the talk earlier their first since he was a boy.
“Luke, Danny is not a bad man. He’s looked after us, made sure everyone got what they wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s helped out with your brothers, when needed, though they have no idea. You wanted to be an intelligence agent. He’s the one who had you steered to where you are. He and I spoke. He told me the Justice Department was the best place for you and he’d take care of it.”
“Sonovabitch,” he whispered. He never knew that.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. He didn’t order anybody to hire you. That was earned, by you. And he and I both agreed that if you couldn’t cut it then out you went. No favors. No special privileges. Nothing. Yes, he got you in the door, but you kept yourself there.”
“Does that mean I owe him or you?”
“Y
ou only owe yourself, Luke. Do your job. Make us all proud.”
She’d always known exactly what to say to him.
“I’m glad you called,” she told him.
“So am I.”
FIFTY-THREE
DES MOINES, IOWA
6:40 P.M.
CASSIOPEIA SETTLED INTO THE DRIVER’S SEAT WHILE JOSEPE climbed into the passenger side. His two associates occupied the rear seat. Josepe had arranged for a rental car to be waiting for them at a private terminal adjacent to the main airport. Before landing, she’d changed into a dark pantsuit with comfortable shoes, ready for what might lie ahead. The Learjet had been equipped with sophisticated communications equipment, so she was able to learn all about Salisbury House.
It was built by Carl and Edith Weeks in the 1920s, after an overseas trip ignited their passion to re-create an English manor house. They bought fourteen acres of timberland and built 28,000 square feet of house, 42 rooms, for them and their four boys. Inside they decorated with 10,000 pieces of art, statuary, tapestries, relics, and rare books, collected from their many travels. There were Tudor fireplaces, 15th-century oak paneling, and ceiling beams from a demolished British inn. Title to the house had been lost during the Depression, then passed through a succession of owners, until a foundation finally took control. Now it was a cultural center, museum, and rental space, a local landmark that was currently hosting a traveling Smithsonian exhibit that dealt with Abraham Lincoln.
She was able to download a PDF brochure on the house, which included a map of the two floors open to visitors. The exhibit was spread out between the Great Hall and the Common Room, both on the ground floor and near each other. She’d reserved a ticket online for the exhibition, then studied Google Maps to learn the local geography. Salisbury House was situated in a quiet residential neighborhood, surrounded by winding streets and older houses. Trees and gardens enclosed it on all sides. The plan was to drop Josepe and his men off at a hotel, then head for the exhibit, arriving after sunset, giving her the opportunity to reconnoiter the site and decide how best to accomplish her task.