Rex was tinkering with the Ducati. “How are you doing?”
“As good as could be expected.” Ben approached the GS, which had been unloaded from the Suburban and parked under a tree. It seemed no worse than it had already been thanks to the Ghost and the deer. He started the motor, listened to its sound, and checked for leaks, finding none. The tires seemed to hold pressure, and all the lights were working. “What’s the best way out of here?”
“Do you really want to leave?”
“I want to find the floppy disk and confront Morgan.”
A car engine sounded, and the Suburban appeared down the dirt road. Streep was driving, with Powell in the passenger seat and Dreyfuss in the back. They got out carrying grocery bags.
Rex took the bag from Powell. “Our guest wants to continue Zachariah’s treasure hunt. Should we help him?”
“Sure,” Powell said.
Ben followed them back inside. “First you try to kill me, and now you want to help me?”
“Things changed.” Streep carried a log to the fireplace. “We thought you were working with them.”
“Working? On what?”
“On removing all barriers from Joe Morgan’s path to the White House, including exposure of his role in various unsavory practices of the Mormon Church. They’ll do whatever it takes to help him win.”
“Why?”
“Are you an imbecile?” Streep shoved a burning piece of paper under the log. “The saints believe it is the destiny of the True Church to take over the whole world, which is why they have a hundred thousand missionaries roving the globe continuously. But putting a devout Mormon in the White House? A Mormon as Commander in Chief? A Mormon as the leader of the free world? In a single strike they’ll become mainstream. Legitimate! Respectable! Do you think China will continue to ban Mormon missionaries when President Joe Morgan occupies the Oval Office?”
“Probably not.”
“That’s right! His election would put Mormon conversions on steroids!”
“There’s a downside too,” Ben said. “It would put Mormonism under everybody’s magnifying glass. They must be worried about this, considering how Mormon history is filled with stories of persecution and suffering.”
“I grew up on these stories,” Streep said, “of bloody Gentile attacks on our innocent ancestors in Ohio, Missouri, Illinois—culminating with the lynching of our prophet. It’s only after I left the Church that I started reading the banned books and discovered the real complexity of our history.”
“Which is?”
“It’s true that most Mormons were hardworking farmers who did nothing to stir the anti-Mormon hostilities that almost destroyed them. But as a group, we were hardly blameless. Joseph Smith was blessed with incredible intelligence, creativity, and charisma, but he used these gifts not only for good.”
“I have to agree with that,” Dreyfuss said. “It wasn’t just his religious activities. There were other new churches and Christian sects popping up in America at that time, and nobody bothered them. But Smith’s messianic theology transformed into a theocracy. His control over the saints as a voting block, his claims that God anointed him to be king over the county, the state, the nation, and eventually the world, scared non-Mormon politicians and citizens. His failed business ventures cost many investors their life savings. His plural marriages, which he claimed were divinely inspired, triggered revulsion and animosity. Put together, all those things instigated armed attacks on Mormons, who formed militias and fought back, and many innocent people died.”
“Hey there,” Powell yelled from the kitchen, “breakfast is ready.”
Rex glanced at his watch. “More like lunch, judging by the time. I have to go. See you all tonight.”
“Good luck,” Dreyfuss said.
Keera arrived late, which meant she had to park all the way at the end. A thin, cold drizzle accompanied her across the parking lot and the circular driveway in front of the hospital. It fit her mood. Waking up on Fran’s sofa, having none of the usual comforts of home, missing most of her favorite toiletries, and not being able to kiss Ben before heading out together made for a miserable morning. How long before he returned? Tomorrow was Friday, and then the weekend. There was no way she would spend a whole nail-biting weekend on Fran’s sofa.
“Good morning!” The gray-haired security guard waved at Keera from behind the reception desk. “How are we doing today, Doctor?”
“Sam!” She shook her finger at him, but still, being greeted with the same joke again and again had its own charm. Clearly the elderly African American guard was proud of her success. “Five more months,” she said. “Don’t jinx me!”
“Haven’t so far, have I?”
“No,” she said, though inside her, dread was rising that life was taking a dangerous, downward slide. “See you later!”
“Go save them,” he yelled, like always, while she ran to catch the elevator.
Streep filled a plate with eggs and potatoes and placed it before Ben. “Now you understand why they’ll do anything to get Morgan elected president of the United States.”
“They?” Ben stretched his arms sideways and up, twisting his face in pain. “Who exactly are they?”
Dreyfuss sat down with his own loaded plate. “Have you heard about the Danites?”
“Let me guess,” Ben said. “The Danites are a secret group of Joe Morgan’s supporters who don’t shy away from violence to ensure his election. Kind of like Watergate, right?”
“A worse kind.” Dreyfuss dug into his eggs with a fork. “We’re not talking about Nixon’s clumsy plumbers breaking into the Democratic Party’s headquarters. The Danites are history’s most deadly political hit men.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Because the Mormon Church,” Dreyfuss said, “is the most effective suppressor of its own history.”
“Thanks for cooking,” Ben said to Powell. “It’s good.”
“You’re welcome.” Powell sat down, a mug of coffee between his large hands. “The Danites were named by Smith for the Israelite Dan, son of Jacob by Bilha, the maid of his beloved wife Rachel. In Genesis, when Jacob’s sons came to his deathbed to receive his last blessings, he said: ‘Dan shall judge the nation; Dan shall be a snake on the road, an adder upon travelers, who strikes the horse’s hooves, felling its rider.’ Do you understand?”
“Dan will be both judge and executioner.”
“Exactly!” Powell raised his mug in a toast. “A big role for the smallest tribe of Israel!”
“That reminds me of something.” Ben reached into his backpack and took out the Canon. “The day Zachariah died, the Ducati ambushed him near the Camp David Scenic Overlook. I took some photos of the path where I think the Ghost waited.” He browsed through the archive of photos on the rear panel of the camera. “Here it is.” He showed them the photo of the depression left in the weeds by the kickstand. “It’s a custom piece with a design welded to the bottom of the plate. I thought it was just a cute stylish twist, meant to add traction to the kickstand.”
“It’s a snake,” Dreyfuss said. “The Danites’ symbol. And waiting in ambush is also predestined, as Moses is quoted in the last chapter of the five books of Moses, giving each tribe a last blessing before he died at the border of the Promised Land. He said that Dan ‘shall strike out of the Bashan.’ Joseph Smith loved to borrow and twist biblical symbols to inspire obedience.”
Ben put down his camera. “Smith started the Danites?”
“A few years into his career as prophet, Smith was facing a rebellion among his initial cohorts. These men had become his business partners in the new church after providing testimonies to support his tales about golden tablets and angels. In exchange, they expected to become rich. But when Smith’s land and banking speculations failed, they recanted their testimonies and rebelled against his authority. By that tim
e, Smith had collected enough believers to defend his flourishing sect. He conveniently announced a divine revelation that the rebels should be destroyed—a sermon known among Mormons as the ‘Rebel Rousing Discourse.’ He preached that, unlike what Christians believe, Judas had not hung himself after betraying Jesus, but had been killed on God’s orders by the Apostle Peter. Similarly, Smith claimed, God had ordered him to form the Danites who would destroy the opponents of the Mormon Church.”
“Sounds extreme,” Ben said. “Are we talking historic facts or anti-Mormon speculation?”
“Documented history.” Dreyfuss unfolded a sheet of paper. “This is a copy of the original Danite Manifesto. Read it.”
Ben pushed aside his food and looked at the paper. It was a photocopy of a document whose serrated margins testified to old age. At the bottom, several columns of signatures appeared, crowded together. The text itself occupied the top half of the page and was handwritten in neat, old English-style cursive:
We have solemnly warned you, and that in the most determined manner, that if you do not cease that course of wanton abuse of the citizens of this county, that vengeance would overtake you sooner or later, and that when it did come it would be as furious as the mountain torrent, and as terrible as the beating tempest; but you have affected to despise our warnings, and pass them off with a sneer, or a grin, or a threat, and pursued your former course; and vengeance sleepeth not, neither does it slumber; and unless you heed us this time, and attend to our request, it will overtake you at an hour when you do not expect, and at a day when you do not look for it; and for you there shall be no escape; for there is but one decree for you, which is depart, depart, or a more fatal calamity shall befall you.
Dreyfuss took back the paper. “These signatures at the bottom are of eighty-three leading Mormons, including Joseph Smith’s brother, Hyrum.”
“Interesting,” Ben said. “How did they contend with God’s commandment not to kill?”
“Good question. To justify murder, Smith said that the Danites in fact were doing their victims a favor, spiritually speaking.”
“A favor?”
“Blood Atonement,” Powell said. “The sinner, or even the innocent bystander, is redeemed by being killed and wins entry to heaven as a martyr. It’s the same theological doctrine invoked by the Inquisition to extract confessions by torture and burn people at the stake. Today’s jihadists also use this concept to justify bombing their fellow Muslims—including collateral victims.”
“Come on,” Ben said. “How can you compare Mormons to jihadists?”
“Let me quote for you,” Powell said, “Joseph Smith’s exact words as written down by the Danites’ commander, John D. Lee, at the time: ‘We will establish our religion by the sword. We will trample down our enemies and make it one gore of blood from the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic Ocean. I will be to this generation a second Mohammed, whose motto in treating for peace was: “The Al-Koran or the sword!” So shall it eventually be with us: Joseph Smith or the sword!’”
“Within a short time,” Dreyfuss said, “Caldwell County in Missouri became a totalitarian theocracy, where disobedient Mormons were literally destroyed. By eighteen thirty-eight, the Danites numbered over a thousand, and they attacked not only Mormon opposition but non-Mormons, whom Smith called ‘Gentiles.’ Soon enough, when Smith attempted to take over the state government, Missouri was in civil war, which ended with the Mormons’ exile to Illinois, where the same pattern repeated. Joseph Smith created a theocracy in a city-state called Nauvoo, built his Danites into a militia force of over five thousand armed zealots, and in ’forty-four declared himself candidate for president of the United States.”
“Did he?” Ben laughed. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Not if you command a militia that was almost as strong as the United States Army at the time, and much better trained and motivated. The Danites were fed and equipped by the tithing of tens of thousands of hardworking believers who expected Joseph Smith to become ‘King to rule over Israel.’ Unfortunately, the rest of the country was less receptive to his aspirations, and everyone was repulsed by the polygamous lifestyle he practiced and preached. Two more wars ensued, and the bloodshed ended only after Joseph Smith was arrested and lynched. The Mormons migrated to the Salt Lake region, which was still part of Mexico.”
“And the Danites?”
“They continued to serve, basically giving Smith’s heir, Prophet Brigham Young, total control over the region, killing and robbing westward pioneers while stomping on internal opposition. But they overdid it with the Mountain Meadows massacre.”
“That rings a bell,” Ben said. “I thought Indians did that.”
“The Mormons used the natives to attack the travelers.” Dreyfuss sighed. “The Baker-Fancher wagon train, about a hundred and fifty men, women, and children on their way to California through the Utah territory with all their cattle, cash, and belongings—a promising loot. But they fought back, and there was a standoff. The Danites’ commander, John D. Lee, tricked the wagon train leaders into surrendering their guns in exchange for safe passage, and then his men murdered everyone.”
“I remember now,” Ben said. “There was a PBS documentary about it.”
“The Mountain Meadows massacre,” Dreyfuss said, “was a tipping point. The whole nation was outraged, and the Mormons didn’t help themselves by proclaiming that all other Christians were Gentiles whose churches were false and whose souls required blood atonement. President Buchanan sent the US Army to subdue the Mormon rebellion, and Brigham Young was faced with certain destruction. He made the only logical decision and dropped the vision of an independent Kingdom of Zion in the Salt Lake Basin. Utah became a state, and Young became its first governor. Finally, as a token of appeasement for the massacre, Lee was shot by a Mormon firing squad at Mountain Meadows.”
“Was that,” Ben asked, “the end of the Danites?”
“No,” Dreyfuss said. “Brigham Young appointed Orrin Porter Rockwell to lead the Danites, and they took an oath of secrecy: ‘In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, I do solemnly obligate myself ever to conceal, and never to reveal the secret purpose of this society.’ Rockwell himself went on to murder over a hundred men while establishing the Danites as a lasting secret force. They’ve remained a deadly force, eliminating every threat and opposition to the leaders of the LDS Church.”
“Even today?”
“You bet,” Streep said. “How else would you explain why, a few years ago, the Mormons unveiled a life-size statue of Orrin Porter Rockwell in Lehi, Utah, in a dedicated park, investing a huge amount of money to commemorate a known murderer who actually died of natural causes in jail as he awaited trial for one of his murders? The reason is that they don’t see the Danites as murderers but as avenging angels who exact blood atonement as prescribed by the prophet Joseph Smith and by his successors.”
“Sounds like fiction,” Ben said.
“Is this fiction?” Streep reached over and poked the bruise on his forehead. “Who tried to kill you?”
“We believe,” Dreyfuss said, “that the Mormon leaders in Salt Lake City ordered the Danites to eliminate any threat to Joe Morgan’s chances of winning the elections and becoming president. Obviously you showed up on their radar screen.”
“But my editor says that the baptisms of dead Medal of Honor winners will not be such hot news, which means it won’t damage Morgan’s chances that much.”
“True,” Powell said. “But lying about it? Abusing Zachariah? It’s a cover-up!”
“Like Nixon,” Ben said.
“We must expose Morgan,” Dreyfuss said. “He was directing the pressure on Zachariah, and we believe all this is chronicled in the files of the Strengthening Church Members Committee.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like the Mormon FBI.”
“Never heard of it,” Ben said. �
�Does it really exist?”
Chapter 48
The pathology lab was located on the basement level of the medical school, which Keera always felt was creepy, as if all of them—cadavers, students, and the pale professor—belonged six feet under. On the other hand, unlike rounding with the other professors on the hospital floors above, where live—or barely alive—patients and their families provided ample fuel for stress and self-doubts, here there was only a cool, quiet interaction with uncomplaining patients who were at no risk of getting any sicker.
Today’s subject was critical care. As part of the training in that demanding, intense part of medical care, students were required to attend the post-mortem pathology of patients who had died under their team’s care. It was traumatic in some cases and less so in others, depending on how much time she had spent with the patient in the CCU and what the patient’s mental status had been. A frail Alzheimer’s patient with no communication capacity was easier to confront in mortality, but a vivacious cancer patient, who had become a dear friend over weeks of care, would turn a postmortem into a devastating experience of peeling away layers of familiar skin and removing the brittle organs of a ravaged body in which, so recently, a precious life had been breathing.
Thankfully Keera’s subject today was a ninety-six-year-old man who had spent only two days in the CCU, unconscious and hooked up to a ventilator. The initial focus was his feet, which had lost blood supply days before his death and looked quite gruesome. By virtue of cadavers having two feet each, the pairs of medical students were able to work simultaneously, unlike the dissection of a nose or a heart, where only one could work at any given time while the other watched.
Keera exposed the underlying structure of muscles and bones as the professor had instructed. She put down the scalpel and stepped back. He was still in the front of the room, examining another student’s work. With at least ten minutes to kill, hunger struck her.
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