Ellis checked his watch. Almost seven o’clock. The Mormon Elder, Bigelow, was due to arrive any minute. They had probably an hour before Cam and Amanda returned to the hotel.
Flashing his badge, he got a key to the storage shed from the front desk. He hadn’t quite figured out why the ark was radioactive, and in fact really didn’t care. But that didn’t mean he wanted his testicles to shrivel up. So when Elder Bigelow arrived, they took the elevator up to Ellis’s room to step into Hazmat suits. Ellis wondered whether Bigelow wore the ‘magic underwear,’ the one-piece undergarments worn by observant Mormons.
Elder Bigelow really wasn’t elderly—maybe early thirties. Tall, gangly and bespectacled, he parted his hair on the side like a school-kid from the 1950s and wore a light blue button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. No doubt he ate vanilla ice cream and maintained a meticulous lawn as well.
“I’m curious to see this artifact,” he said, “but I’m also concerned about the girl. My daughter Naomi befriended her, and she tells me the girl is being kept away from our church.”
A couple of people gave them funny looks as they walked through the rear parking lot in bright yellow suits. Ellis nodded. “It’s really a sad story. She was raised Mormon by her uncle, who died. A young couple have temporary custody of her, but they have a … I guess you would call it disdain … for Mormonism. They won’t let her attend or pray or contact her old teachers. And from what I can tell the poor girl is really torn up by it. She feels like she’s being forced into being a sinner.”
“My daughter is about the same age. And I also have two older boys. Their lives revolve around our church. I can’t imagine what this girl must be going through.” He sighed. “God help her.”
Because Bigelow was sweating in his suit, his glasses had slid down his nose so that he had to arch his neck back to look through the lenses. Dressed in yellow, knees bowlegged and chin pointed upwards, he looked like Chicken Little watching for a falling sky. Or perhaps a nervous Mormon awaiting the wrath of his angry God.
They put on their hoods and Ellis opened the shed. He allowed Bigelow to examine the ark for a few seconds before speaking. “Obviously, this is not the original Ark of the Covenant—the Latin inscription tells us that. But we think it may date back to the early centuries after Christ.” He shined a flashlight on the Hebrew. “What do you think that says?”
Bigelow crouched. “Beit … Lehi.” His voice dropped and echoed inside the hood. “House of Lehi.”
Ellis waited a few seconds before prompting. “Is that important?”
Bigelow dropped to his knees, his eyes glued to the inscription. Ellis leaned closer to hear. “Lehi is a Mormon prophet who came to America before the time of Christ. But his descendants would have been called the House of Lehi. If this is authentic, it might actually prove the Book of Mormon.”
“Really,” Ellis feigned.
“As God is my witness.”
CHAPTER 8
Cam woke at six, rode the exercise bike in the hotel gym for a half-hour using only one leg, and returned in time to shower and join Amanda and Astarte for breakfast at the hotel buffet. Georgia would have contacted him had the situation flared at the compound overnight.
“I could get used to this fresh fruit every day,” Amanda said.
“Me too,” Cam responded. He turned to Astarte, expecting her to chime in as well, but she had been unusually quiet the past couple of days and it continued today.
Amanda filled the void. “We’ve been here for the better part of two weeks now. I think it’s time to go home.”
“What about the ark?” Cam asked.
She shrugged. “It belongs to Willum. I imagine he’ll bring in some experts to test it—metallurgists, what have you.”
“You’re assuming he lives out the week.”
Astarte interjected. “I don’t want to go home yet. I made a friend at the Mormon church. Her name is Naomi. She invited me to come to her house tonight for Family Home Evening.”
Amanda looked to Cam questioningly. “It’s basically family night,” he said. “They pray and play games together.” He tried a smile. “No speaking in tongues, as far as I know.”
Amanda didn’t see the humor. She glared at Cam before turning back to Astarte. Pulling at her own fingers, she took a deep breath. “Cameron and I will discuss this. I understand you want to go, but we have some concerns.”
“But I want to go.” She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not fair you won’t let me pray.”
“I said we would talk about it. Now please finish your breakfast.”
Astarte sat on a barstool in the hotel lobby, painting with water colors on an easel Georgia had bought her. Painting always seemed to calm her down—but today she found herself drawn to the grays and dark blues and blacks in the color palette.
“What are you painting?”
She looked up to see Flying Fox smiling down at her. She hadn’t heard him approach. “A boat. In a storm.”
“I see.” He cocked his head. “I like the way you’ve made the sea so angry.”
“I feel angry.” She hadn’t meant to say it.
He looked at her painting again. “Who’s the man in the boat?”
She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, but Flying Fox worked with Georgia. And he was sort of like a policeman. “The prophet Lehi.”
“Really?” He paused. “Say, did I hear you made friends with a girl named Naomi Bigelow?”
“Yes.” How did Flying Fox know that?
“Her father was here last night looking at the ark. You mentioned the prophet Lehi—Elder Bigelow thinks that’s one of the names carved on the side of the ark.”
She knew it!
“He thinks it might help prove the Book of Mormon,” he said.
Her teeth ground together and she steadied her hand as she painted the clouds. She was glad Mr. Bigelow agreed with her. But why didn’t Cameron and Amanda listen to her in the first place?
Flying Fox seemed to sense her frustration. “It’s tough being a kid sometimes. Adults always think they know what’s right.” He smiled again. “You know, usually they do.”
“But not always.”
He leaned against the back of an easy chair. “You’re right, not always.” He turned his palms up. “Just look at the situation at the compound—all the adults can’t all be right, otherwise what would we be fighting about?” He watched her paint for a few seconds. “You’ve been to the compound, right?”
Astarte put her brush down. Her eyes began to water. “I’ve been there. But Amanda and Cameron won’t let me go inside.” Just like they wouldn’t let her go to the Mormon church. Or to Naomi’s house. Or listen to her opinion about the writing on the ark.
“Really, they wouldn’t let you? They told me you were too afraid to go in.”
She spun on the stool. “I am not afraid.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m heading out there now. I’m going to show Elder Bigelow and his daughter around. It’s really neat inside those domes. There really is nothing to be scared of.”
Wasn’t he listening? “I … am … not … afraid.”
“Well, today is probably the last chance to see it. I think tomorrow the soldiers might take some action.” He stood. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being scared.”
She hopped off the stool. Why were grown-ups such bad listeners? “I would like to come with you.” Suddenly her face felt very hot. But if Naomi was going, she should be able to go too.
He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Sure thing. But I’m running late.” He motioned to her palette. “Leave your paints here; we won’t be gone long. You can call Amanda from the car.”
Astarte nodded. Good idea. If she asked permission, Amanda would just say no anyway.
Today she was making potato salad for lunch. As she was stirring in the mayo, a text arrived on her cell phone.
From Ellis Kincaid: “I am bringing a human shield. Be there in forty-five m
inutes. Put on your Mormon hat.” What was this? And how did Kincaid even know she was Mormon? He seemed to enjoy keeping her off balance while at the same time trusting her instincts and intelligence to do the right thing. Or the thing he wanted her to do.
She left instructions for her kitchen staff to finish preparing the meal. Kincaid was not an ally, but for whatever reason his interests and objectives seemed to jibe with hers. She made sure Willum was occupied in the rear of the complex, then strolled to the front gate to wait for Kincaid and whatever scheme he had cooked up this time.
“Oh my God, Cam,” Amanda said, reading a text on her phone.
“What?”
“It’s Astarte.” She dropped into a chair. “She’s with Ellis Kincaid. They’re heading to the compound.”
Stomach tightening, Cam swung open the door of the conference room. “She’s supposed to be out in the lobby painting.” He jogged down the hallway, ignoring the pain. Easel yes, Astarte no. Son-of-a-bitch.
Amanda pulled up behind him, her eyes wide with fear. “I can’t believe she left without telling us.”
“I think she’s pissed at us.”
“But still.”
“I know.” He flashed-back to his fall through the ice. “I’m going to kill that piece of shit if anything happens to her.”
“What do you think he’s up to?”
“I don’t know. Can you call her cell?”
“I just tried. No service.”
“Or he turned it off. And we can’t reach anyone at the compound either.” He stared out the front window of the lobby. “I’m going up to get our keys.” He sprinted to the elevator and called over his shoulder. “We need to get out there.”
As soon as Astarte sent her text to Amanda, Ellis flicked a switch on a box at his feet to jam further cell communication. He thought about blocking the initial text as well, but figured Thorne and Amanda would be less panicked if it looked like Astarte had accompanied him voluntarily. Once he got her inside the compound, it wouldn’t really matter anymore.
Ellis knew he needed to keep the girl calm, so he asked her about her favorite desserts and toys and hobbies. He told her funny stories from his childhood—about the ice cream truck driver letting him hide in the freezer and then jumping out to scare the little kids; about persuading his friends to go swimming on a cold May day and then stealing their towels; about putting cracker crumbs in all the sleeping bags at his sister’s sleep-over party.
“Why are all your stories about doing mean things to other people?” Astarte asked.
Ellis blinked. Why indeed? He changed the subject. “So did you ever have any pets?”
He half-listened as he drove, the compound now looming on the desert horizon. “Did you know that the woman who helps Willum Smoot run the compound is a Mormon?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“She is going to show us around. And I thought maybe also you could talk to her about the words carved on the ark. I know Cameron and Amanda are telling Mr. Smoot it says ‘House of Levi.’ But I think they should know that Elder Bigelow thinks it says ‘House of Lehi’ instead.”
The girl nodded. “It does.”
Clarisse met them outside the front gate. She wanted to get a better sense of things before opening their doors to a federal agent.
“So you must be Astarte,” she said, smiling.
“Yes. Hello.”
“You can call me Clarisse.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
The girl looked like any other nine-year-old—pink leggings, sneakers, a floral short-sleeve shirt. But her cobalt eyes, framed by almond skin, were striking—she would be a beauty someday. “So I heard you want to see our compound.”
“Yes. Is it true it looks like a flying saucer?”
“One of the buildings does, yes. The others are giant domes—it feels like we’re living inside a basketball.”
“Does it echo?”
Smart kid. “As a matter of fact, it does. And sometimes when you whisper in one corner of the dome you can hear it way on the other side.”
Ellis stood off to the side, his auburn hair pushed down over his eyebrows, wearing his self-satisfied smirk. But he didn’t seem to be a threat. At least no more than usual. “Okay, you want to come in?”
Astarte nodded.
“Follow me.” The guard closed the gate behind them, the echo of metal-on-metal reminding her of some old 1950s prison movie. Clarisse motioned with her chin and a guard they called Rattler, a tightly-wound guy who had a fascination with snakes, followed a few feet behind, just to make sure Ellis behaved himself.
As they walked, Ellis spoke. “I was wondering, do any Mormons live here?” He gave Clarisse a quick look.
“Sure. In fact, I’m a Mormon.”
Astarte looked up. “Do you hold worship services inside?”
“No. Members go to a meetinghouse in Casa Grande to pray. It’s not far.”
Ellis pulled out his phone and feigned reading a text—the girl didn’t know there was no coverage. “Looks like Elder Bigelow and his daughter are running late.” But the girl was too curious to really care.
They approached a dome. Clarisse pushed open a screen door. “You can go in. This is the women’s pod, where the single women live. Just please don’t touch anything.”
Astarte tip-toed around the cots and hammocks, occasionally peering into one the tents. “So,” Clarisse whispered, “what are you up to?”
“Like my email said, human shield.”
She glanced at the girl. “You want me to keep her here against her will? Like a hostage?”
“If necessary, yes. Our story is that she asked to stay. Which she may actually do—she’s upset they won’t let her attend Mormon prayer services.”
“I don’t know. She’s just an innocent kid.”
“Look, this is getting serious. And she’s not in any danger—no way will they attack with her in here. And she can leave tomorrow.”
“What if she wants to leave tonight?”
Kincaid shrugged. “Once the gate is locked, she’s not getting out unless you let her.”
“Why her? What makes her a better shield than the other dozen kids who were living here?”
He looked around. “Well, for one thing, the other kids are gone. Plus it’s personal with her and one of the lead agents.”
“So maybe she buys us some time. But what for?”
“For you to steal the fuel cell.”
“Why would I do that?” It actually wasn’t a bad idea.
“Because if you can deliver that prototype, the government will back down.” He tossed his head so his bangs didn’t cover his eyes. “Think what a hero Willum will become in the Survivalist community. Standing up to the feds, forcing them to skulk away.”
He was right. With a victory like that, Willum would become a legend. And when the collapse finally did come, he would be the natural choice to lead the people. The next Moses. But it wasn’t that easy. “He’ll know I took it,” she sighed.
“So what. He almost gave it to us voluntarily. I bet in some ways he expects you to steal it—he needs to save face, but he also realizes it’s the best resolution to all this. You’d just be doing what he expects his lieutenant to do.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“I take the girl with me. And the troops move in tomorrow.” She nodded. “Well, then, I guess we have a deal.”
Ellis slipped away while Clarisse was showing the girl around the compound and drove until he had cell coverage. He sent a text to Duck Boots requesting a call, as was their protocol. Ten minutes later his phone rang.
“You wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes, sir. I need you to issue a new order,” Ellis said. “Nobody gets in or out of the compound, effective immediately. Including children.”
The man grunted. “What are you up to?”
“Horse-trading. We should have that fuel cell by tomorrow.”
Another grunt. “About time.
”
Ellis pursed his lips. A couple of grunts was nothing compared to what he would have to face from Cameron Thorne and his fiancée.
Cam skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the road outside the compound gate. Somewhere inside was Astarte. He jumped from the car and strode toward the guard house. A soldier in a camouflage uniform carrying an M16 sprang from his post and intercepted Cam.
“I’m sorry, sir, this compound is locked down.”
Amanda pushed up next to him, her face as pale as he had ever seen it. “We have clearance. You can check with your commanding officer.” Cam gave their names.
The soldier motioned for a cohort to take his position while he radioed in the request. He returned in less than a minute. “I’m sorry. New orders. Nobody in or out. Straight from the White House.”
“But our daughter is in there,” Amanda pleaded.
The soldier’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Those are my orders.” Cam didn’t know how the guard resisted her—Cam would have done anything to lessen the pain in her eyes.
Cam eyed the guard. “You said the orders were new. How new?”
He probably shouldn’t answer. But he was human. “Ten minutes ago.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I saw the girl go in. She seemed okay.”
Ten minutes. So somehow Ellis had gotten the White House to issue new orders instantly.
Cam peered past the guard, looking for a pair of black pigtails. Would they shoot him if he made a run for it? But even if he made the gate, it was locked. And Smoot wasn’t there to open it for him. He sighed. “Come on, Amanda. I think we need to have a talk with Ellis Kincaid.”
Alone in his hotel room, Ellis removed his golf shirt, slipped on a black Kevlar flak jacket and threw on a loose-fitting grey hoodie to hide the bulk underneath. He then pulled an unmarked pill bottle from a side pocket of his Dopp kit, opened the lid and popped four Percocets. He rarely took pain medication, especially something as strong as Percocet, but he knew he’d set himself up to take a beating when Thorne returned—flak jacket or not—and he wanted a head start on managing the pain. From his Dopp kit he also removed a dental retainer, rinsed it off and snapped it into place against his upper teeth—it might prevent a tooth or two from getting knocked out. Finally, he emptied his bladder and his bowels in the toilet; getting knocked cold is no fun, but it’s even less pleasant when you wake up soaked in your own urine and feces.
Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3) Page 23