He started after her.
CASSIOPEIA WAS BAFFLED AS TO HOW THAT MAN KNEW WHAT she was after. He’d obviously been waiting for her to make a move. The voice had sounded younger, with a touch of the American South she’d come to recognize from Cotton. Had Stephanie tracked her here? That seemed the only explanation, which meant the younger man was not alone.
She kept moving through the dark mass of people, edging herself toward the front door. Her car waited only a few hundred meters behind the house. Getting there from here through the house c
ould be a problem.
Rounding the exterior would work much better.
So she found the door latch and eased it open, slipping out into the night.
LUKE HEADED BACK TOWARD THE MAIN ENTRANCE AND THE Great Hall. The folks remaining in the Common Room had determined that glass was now everywhere on the floor, caution being advised, so he’d used that momentary distraction to slip away, finding his way through the dark.
His crotch ached, but the pain had eased.
No matter, he wasn’t going to allow Cassiopeia Vitt to get away. He’d never hear the end of it from Malone or Stephanie, especially after the old-timer had warned him. He turned a corner and felt his way along the wall to the short flight of steps that led up to the entrance foyer.
He heard the front door open, then close.
Was that her?
It made sense.
So he headed for the exit.
He opened the door and stepped outside.
Ahead he saw nothing.
Then he caught a glimpse of Cassiopeia Vitt, near the house wall, turning a corner, heading back toward its rear. This time he provided her no warning, but said into the mike, “She’s coming your way, Pappy.”
Then he followed.
FIFTY-SEVEN
RICHARD NIXON ENTERED THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND SHOOK hands with the Prophet Joseph Fielding Smith, his two counselors, and all of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The president of the United States had come to Salt Lake campaigning for local Republican candidates in the congressional midterm elections. He’d brought his wife, daughter Tricia, and two cabinet members—George Romney and David Kennedy—who were both Saints. The customary public appearances had all been made, and now they were safe inside the church’s main administrative building, behind closed doors, paneled walls and a coffered wood ceiling enclosing them. Nixon and Smith sat at one end of a polished table, the rest of the apostles occupying its sides.
“I’ve always found my visits to Salt Lake City to be extremely heartwarming,” Nixon said. “Your church is a great institution that has played a part in this administration.”
The date was July 24, 1970. Pioneer Day. An official Utah state holiday, designated to commemorate the entry, in 1847, of the first wave of people to the Salt Lake basin. Parades, fireworks, rodeos, and other festivities traditionally marked the day. Like July 4 for Latter-day Saints. Later, Nixon himself was scheduled to attend the famous Days of ’47 Rodeo at the Salt Palace.
“I don’t know of any group in America that has contributed more to our strong moral leadership and high moral standards—the spirit that has kept America going through bad times as well as good times. No group has done more than those who are members of this church.”
“Why are you here?” Smith asked.
Nixon seemed taken aback by the abruptness of the question. “I just told you. I came to offer my praise.”
“Mr. President, you personally requested this private audience with myself, my counselors, and the Quorum of Twelve. No president has ever asked that of us before. Surely you have to understand why we would be curious. So here we are. Just us. What is it you want?”
Smith, though a consummate gentleman, was no fool. He was the tenth prophet to lead the church, his father had been the sixth, and his grandfather had been the brother of founder Joseph Smith. He became an apostle in 1910, at age twenty-five, and had only six months back been elevated to prophet at the age of ninety-four, the oldest man ever selected. He was the only one in the room who’d actually been present when the temple in Salt Lake had been dedicated in 1893.
He bowed to no one.
Not even presidents of the United States.
Nixon’s face changed, shifting from a countenance of congeniality to one of a man on a mission. “All right. I like directness. Saves time. Something was given to you in 1863 by Abraham Lincoln, something you never returned. I want it back.”
“Why is that?” Smith asked.
“Because it belongs to the United States.”
“Yet it was given to us for safekeeping.”
Nixon studied the men around the table. “I see you know what I’m talking about. Good. That’ll make this simpler.”
Smith pointed a wizened finger at the president. “You have no idea what it says, do you?”
“I know that it caused Lincoln great anguish. I know that he sent it away for a reason. I know that, as part of the bargain, Brigham Young provided Lincoln with the location of a mine, one that people have sought for a long time. A place where a lot of your gold may be hidden away, gold lost during the Mormon War when 22 wagons disappeared.”
“None of that gold was lost,” one of the apostles said. “Not one ounce. All of it was reintroduced into our economy, after the threat of war from the federal government waned. Prophet Brigham made sure that happened. There is no mystery there.”
“Interesting you would say that,” Nixon said. “I had that researched. Brigham Young sent the gold away to California. But according to your own written records, those wagons were attacked and men were killed, the gold stolen and lost. Are you saying your prophet was involved with that theft?”
“We’re not saying anything,” another of the apostles said, “except that no gold was lost.”
“Does not the White Horse Prophecy mean anything to you? Were you not to be the saviors of our Constitution?”
A few of the apostles chuckled.
“That’s a fable,” one of them said. “A story made up by the early church fathers as a way to bolster our new religion. Just hearsay and misinterpretation that spread, like rumors do. Every theology has such stories. But it’s not real. We disavowed its language long ago.”
Nixon grinned. “Gentlemen, I’ve played many a hand of poker, and I’ve played against the best. I’m not fooled here by your bluff. Brigham Young made a deal with Abraham Lincoln, and both sides, to their credit, kept it. I’ve read a note that survived from Lincoln’s time. A handwritten message from James Buchanan, sent to Lincoln, that provided him with a document. More papers I’ve seen indicate that the document was ultimately sent here, as Lincoln’s part of the bargain. But thanks to Lincoln’s sudden, untimely death you still have that document.”
“For sake of argument,” Smith said. “If such a document were returned, what would you do with it?”
“That depends on what it says. My guess is that it concerns the Founding Fathers and what they may, or may not, have done in Philadelphia.”
“The Constitution is, to us, a glorious standard, one founded in the wisdom of God,” the prophet said. “It is a heavenly banner. To all those who are privileged with the blessings of liberty, it is like the cooling shades and refreshing waters of a great rock in a thirsty and weary land.”
“Wonderful analogies,” Nixon said. “But you have yet to answer my question.”
Smith faced the apostles around the table. “You see here an example of what we’ve faced since the beginning. The arrogance of a federal government, come here, to our home, demanding that we obey its commands.”
A few heads bobbed in agreement.
“I indulged this request for a private audience hoping that this president would be different.” Smith’s gaze locked on George Romney and David Kennedy. “Two of our own serve in this administration, which we took as a good sign.” The prophet paused, as if gathering himself. Smith had served for many years as church Historian and Recorder. If anyone would know what the records held, he would.
Finally, Smith faced Nixon.
“We are indeed the custodians of something given to us long ago. But Brigham Young made the decision to keep what he’d been given, and every prophet since has likewise done the same. That decision is, therefore, mine. So I decline your request.”
“You’re refusing a direct demand from the president of the United States?”
“In our Doctrine and Covenants, 109:54, it is said Have mercy, O Lord, upon all the nations of the earth; have mercy upon the rulers of our land; may
those principles, which were so honorably and nobly defended, namely, the Constitution of our land, by our fathers, be established forever. That is what I obey … Mr. President. Not you.”
Rowan stared at Charles Snow and Danny Daniels.
He’d listened as Snow told him what happened over four decades ago.
“I was there,” Snow said. “Sitting around that table. A relatively new apostle, but I watched as Joseph Fielding Smith dealt with Richard Nixon. That was the first time I became aware of our great secret.”
“And the others knew?”
Snow nodded. “Some of the most senior were aware.”
“Charles,” Rowan said. “You sent me to find it. You told me to look.”
“No, Thaddeus. I showed you what came from the record stone simply as way to provide you with enough rope to hang yourself. President Daniels and I have been speaking on this for many months now.”
He could not believe what he was hearing. The prophet himself a spy? A traitor? Placing the interests of gentiles above those of Saints?
“Joseph Fielding Smith,” Snow said, “was a brilliant man. He served this church for three-quarters of the 20th century. After Nixon left that day, we were all briefed on some of what happened in 1863. But it was only when I became prophet that I learned the rest. Each prophet since has passed that information on to his successor. All of the men there that day with Nixon are now dead. Only I remain. But the duty of passing on ends here and now. I will tell you nothing.”
“We can do this, Charles,” Rowan said. “We can leave this godforsaken country, with all of its laws and rules and taxes and problems. We don’t need it any longer. We’ve done polls. The people are solidly behind secession. Utahans will approve any resolution calling for it.”
“Do you realize what will happen,” Daniels asked, “if you go through with this? The United States is a world power.”
“And losing Utah will change that?” he asked. “You’re being ludicrous.”