by Steve Berry
“I dated her first.”
He’d never known that.
“She dumped me for your daddy.” Danny laughed. “She always liked that. And to tell you the truth, I liked it, too. She was too damn good for me.”
He agreed, but for once kept his mouth shut.
“I regret what happened between your daddy and me. I regret what happened in my life in general. I lost my daughter.” His uncle paused. “But I think it’s time my nephews quit hating me.”
“You’ve spoken to my brothers?”
“Nope. I’m starting with you.”
“Have you visited Mary’s grave?”
His uncle stared back. “Not yet.”
“And you don’t see a problem there?”
Tension filled the room.
“We lost everything in that fire,” Danny said, the voice now low and distant. “Every picture. Every memory. Burned to ash.”
“And you acted like it never happened.”
For a moment, silence passed between them. Then Danny said, “All I have left is a vision of her in my mind.”
Luke didn’t know what to say.
The president’s eyes glistened.
He’d never seen emotion from this man before.
Danny stuffed a hand into his trouser pocket and removed a folded envelope, which he handed over. On the front, scrawled in blue ink, were the words FOR MY SONS.
Luke’s father’s handwriting.
Danny seemed to grab hold of himself and stood. “He gave that to me just before he died and told me to give it to his boys—whenever I thought the time was right.”
The president walked toward the door.
He watched the big man retreat, the door opening, then closing.
He stared at the folded envelope.
Whatever was inside had been written at least thirteen years ago. His first thought was that it should be read with his brothers present, but there was no way he could wait that long. His uncle had known he was coming here tonight, this moment apparently chosen to pass it along.
He smoothed the folds and tore open the seal. A single sheet of paper was inside, handwritten by his father.
He sucked in a breath and read.
So that the end would be peaceful and we could focus on saying our goodbyes I decided to say this from the grave. Nearly all my life my brother and I were at odds. Not only age separated us, but so many other things did, too. We never really bonded, as brothers should. What happened with Mary and my reaction to Danny’s grief has caused a lot of pain in this family. Your uncle can be tough. Sometimes even cruel. But that doesn’t mean he can’t feel. All of us deal with grief in different ways. His was to ignore it. My mistake was not allowing him to be himself. I want all of you to know that Danny and I have made our peace. He knows of my illness and, together, we cried at the mess we made of things. I want you to know that he’s my brother, I love him, and I want my sons to love him, too. He has no children and never will. The horrible loss he suffered is something I cannot comprehend. I blamed him and he resented me. But what happened was just an accident. I was wrong to think otherwise. We’re both sorry for what we did and we forgave each other fully and completely, as brothers should. He told me that there’s not a second of any day that he does not think about Mary. Never will that pain leave him. So my sons, let’s not add to that. Be good to your uncle. He needs you, though he’ll probably never admit that. So do this for me.
Tears dripped from his eyes.
His father was right.
The world knew nothing of Danny Daniels’ private pain. He’d always kept that to himself. Luke had somehow sensed that Stephanie might know something, but they’d never discussed the subject.
Danny had faced some tough stuff.
And all of us do deal with grief in different ways.
He felt like a fool.
Or more accurately, like a son scolded by his father.
“I did it,” he whispered to the page. “I made good. Like you wanted.”
The tears came faster.
He hadn’t cried in a long time.
He held the letter tight, knowing that his father had actually touched the paper. It was the last physical connection he would ever have. But he realized what his dad had meant. There was still another Daniels alive to whom they all had a connection.
Misunderstanding had kept them apart.
But that had to end.
Sons owed their father obedience.
“I’ll do what you say,” he mouthed. “I promise. We’ll all do exactly what you say.”
FIFTY
7:30 A.M.
ROWAN STEPPED FROM THE CAB AT 9900 STONEYBROOK DRIVE and paid the driver. Four colleagues waited for him, each representing one of the four congressional districts within Utah. He was the fifth representative, in the Senate. The sixth congressmen, his fellow senator, was not part of the plan, as that man’s election six years ago had been a fluke. All five men were Saints, and he was the senior member for both the delegation and the church. He wore an overcoat buttoned tight, but the brittle dawn air was more invigorating than uncomfortable. He’d called the meeting by an email sent out in the early-morning hours after he returned from the Library of Congress.
They stood before the Washington, D.C., temple, a soaring edifice sheathed in Alabama white marble, topped by six golden spires. It stood ten miles north of the U.S. Capitol. Its distinctive shape and size, centered within fifty-two wooded acres, had become a landmark along the Capital Beltway, easily spotted from the air in the Maryland countryside each time he flew in and out of Reagan National.
They exchanged greetings and walked toward a reflection pond and fountain that adorned the main entrance. He’d chosen this locale since he knew that no one would be here this early on a Friday morning. The building itself was locked. Which was fine. They would talk outside, with the house of the Lord in sight, so all of the prophets could hear. Both the House and Senate met today, but roll call was not for another two hours.
“We’re almost there,” he told them, controlling his excitement. “It’s finally happening. I need to know that we’re ready in Salt Lake.”
“I checked,” the 4th District representative said. “The count hasn’t changed. We have 95 of 104 votes, between the state House and Senate, solid for secession.”
What was about to happen had to be done with precision. Utah would be the test case, whose aim would be to overturn the 1869 legal precedent Texas v. White. The battle would be fought entirely in the U.S. Supreme Court, and the last thing he wanted was for some minor procedural error to derail the attack. This fight was about a state leaving the Union, not whether a vote here or there had been properly taken.
“And the governor? Is he still okay?”
“Absolutely,” the man from the 2nd District made clear. “He and I have discussed it at length. He’s as fed up as we are.”
He knew what that meant. Reformism did not work. Elections offered no real choices, and third-party alternatives had no chance to succeed. Revolt? Revolution? The federal government would crush either. The only logical way to effect a lasting change was secession. That route offered the most direct path for a state to regain some semblance of control over its destiny. It was nonviolent—a peaceable rejection of policies and practices deemed unacceptable—fitting to the American way. After all, that was precisely what the Founding Fathers had done to England.
He stared up at the grand temple.
One hundred and sixty thousand square feet under the roof. Six ordinance rooms. Fourteen sealing rooms. Its white exterior symbolized purity and enlightenment. Some of the stone had been shaved to just over half an inch thick, which allowed the glow of sunlight to pass through to the interior at certain times of the day.
He loved it here.
“A bill has already been drafted, ready for the state legislature,” another of the congressmen said, “that will call for Utah’s withdrawal from the Union and an immediate referendum from the people of
Utah affirming the act. There’ll be opposition, but the overwhelming majority in the legislature will vote for it.”
And its terms would be reasonable.
The act of secession would recognize that there were federal properties within the state for which there would need to be reimbursement, most prominent of which were the massive federal land-holdings. Some citizens of Utah might not want to be a part of the new nation, so allowances for them to leave would be made, perhaps even compensation offered for any personal or property losses they would suffer. The same would be true of corporations and businesses, though the new nation of Deseret would offer an environment far more friendly to them than did the United States. Some arrangement for repaying Utah’s portion of the national debt—up to the date of secession—would also be detailed, but that would be countered by a credit for Utah’s portion of the remaining federal assets spread across the other forty-nine states. His team had studied this ratio and discovered that assets outweighed debt and Utah might actually be entitled to a claim on assets, which would be waived, of course, provided the federal government relinquished its claim on all assets in Utah. To solidify it all, the referendum would pronounce in no uncertain terms what a majority of the people in the state of Utah wanted.
Secession.
Would it all go so smoothly? He doubted that, but Saints had always been good at planning, administering, and improvising.
They’d get the job done.
“Of course,” one congressman said, “Washington will just ignore the resolution and the vote. You know that. And that’s when we turn up the heat.”
This would definitely be a fight of political wills. They’d quietly polled Utah and discovered that nearly 70 percent favored secession, a percentage that had remained unchanged over the past five years. That information had been used to quietly secure legislative support, which had been surprisingly easy to lock down.
People were ready to go it on their own.
But there was still the reality that the United States of America would not go away without a fight.
“We have a plan ready. Utah will immediately default on all federal obligations,” one of his colleagues said. “The enforcement of all federal laws and regulations will be suspended. Federal officials will be asked to leave. Nothing Washington says will be respected. We’ll take a hands-off approach. After the vote on secession by the people, all of us will walk away from Congress, no longer members. I imagine even our wayward, gentile Senate brother will join us, once he sees the support back home.”
He smiled at the thought of that. He and his fellow senator had spoken little during the past six years. “It’s a bold move. But necessary. While all of this is playing out, I’ll pressure the church to reassure everyone.”
“Washington wouldn’t dare send troops,” another of the congressmen said. “They can’t risk somebody getting hurt. That would be an international PR disaster.”
And history would work in their favor.
Over the course of a few weeks in 1989, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, and Poland all seceded from their communist regimes with little to no violence. The Soviet Union never invaded, nor pressed the point militarily. It simply let them go. Only in Romania, where both sides had wanted a fight, had bloodshed occurred. The United States could ill afford to conduct itself differently. Invading Utah made no sense.
“No,” he said. “They’ll turn to the courts.”
Which was precisely where he wanted them.
The United States of America would file suit against what it would still label the state of Utah, seeking declaratory and injunctive relief to prevent the state from enforcing any portion of its secessionist legislation. The argument would be that, under Texas v. White, the state of Utah had no constitutional right to secede. Since a state was a party to that suit, under Article III of the Constitution, the Supreme Court possessed original jurisdiction. That meant the matter would be heard in a matter of weeks, if not days considering the implications. The last thing the federal government would want is time for more secessionist sentiment to spread.
But it would.
Texas, Hawaii, Alaska, Vermont, and Montana would quickly follow Utah’s lead. This movement would be national.
And he’d add the final ingredient.
Startling new evidence.
Enough to win both the legal and the PR battle.
Words from the founders themselves.
“The lawyers are ready,” he said. “I just met with them yesterday. And I’m closing in on the final piece. It’s merely a matter of hours or days.”
What encouraged him was the package that had arrived just before he left his Georgetown residence. A copy of notes, written by James Madison, hidden away at Montpelier, found last night by Stephanie Nelle, every word of which confirmed what he knew to be true.
Secession was legal.
One sentence in particular drove the point home.
The document would be given to Gen. Washington to hold and utilize as he deemed appropriate. The desire being that its existence need not be revealed unless necessary to secure the ratification of a State, or to later sanction the withdrawal of a State from the association.
How much clearer could it be?
Nelle had promised the originals when she had written assurance that Rowan’s interest in her department had ended. He needed those, but he needed the actual document the founders signed that Saturday in September 1787 even more. Thankfully, the answer as to its location lay with the church, not the government.
He stared again at the magnificent temple, the first one built by Saints on the eastern seaboard. The first, after the Salt Lake temple, to feature six spires. The tallest worldwide. One of five that featured the angel Moroni holding the golden plates. Its seven floors represented the six days of creation and the day of rest, and beautiful stained glass ran the height of the towers, reds and oranges yielding to blues and violets, all representing the unbroken progress toward the divine. So appropriate, with what was about to happen.
“We will change our world,” he said.
The other men seemed pleased.
“We will accomplish what Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, and every other pioneer failed to do.”
He paused.
“We shall finally be independent.”
FIFTY-ONE
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
SALAZAR SETTLED INTO THE LEATHER SEAT AND BEGAN TO enjoy the in-flight meal provided by the catering service. A combination of lamb and vegetables, which Cassiopeia had reheated, serving them both in the spacious main cabin. Of all his possessions, the Learjet was his favorite. He spent a lot of time moving from one place to another, so it was important he travel in comfort.
“I promised you an explanation,” he said.
She smiled. “You did.”
His two associates sat aft, near the galley and restroom, eating their own lunch. He kept his voice low, though the roar of the engines helped with privacy.
“It’s hard to know where to start. But the best way to summarize is that we intend to finish the establishment of Zion. What Joseph Smith and BrighamYoung began, we will complete.”
“The church is a vital organization,” she said. “A worldwide entity. Seems that mission is complete.”
“Not in the way they truly envisioned. We’ve always been required to conform—to be like everyone else. We migrated to the Salt Lake valley so we could live by the prophets, following the Book of Mormon, a true Zion on earth. But that never happened.”
“To accomplish that would mean having your own country.”
He smiled. “And that’s precisely what we intend to create. The nation of Deseret, headquartered in Salt Lake, encompassing the boundaries of the former American state of Utah, and other land that may want to join us.”
He could see she was intrigued. He remembered when he first heard Elder Rowan’s plan. His heart had been filled with joy tempered with confusion. But all doubts had been erase
d when Rowan described how the White Horse Prophecy would finally come to fulfillment.
“Remember what I read to you from Rushton’s journal? The White Horse Prophecy makes clear that Saints hold the key to the Constitution. In 1854 Brigham Young made a speech at the Salt Lake Tabernacle. He said, Will the Constitution be destroyed? No. It will be held inviolate by this people and, as Joseph Smith said, ‘The time will come when the destiny of the nation will hang upon a single thread. At that critical juncture, this people will step forth and save it from the threatened destruction.’ It will be so. Prophet Brigham said that fourteen years after the White Horse Prophecy was revealed and seven years before the Civil War. His words became truth during the Civil War, as Saints did save the nation from destruction.”
She listened as he explained about a bargain made between Brigham Young and Abraham Lincoln, one that was sealed by Lincoln when he provided a document, signed by the Founding Fathers, that said individual states possessed the right to leave the Union.
“Prophet Brigham never revealed that document to the South,” he said. “Instead, he hid it away and allowed the Union to survive. The American Civil War was fought over whether a state could secede. What would have happened if those wayward states knew that the founders of their nation sanctioned their act? I would say that the Constitution truly did hang by a thread. But the church, as the White Horse, allowed the United States to survive.”
“Amazing,” she said. “Considering how the federal government had treated them.”
“Which only demonstrates our commitment to the Constitution.”
“And that doesn’t exist anymore?”
“Of course it does. But the White Horse Prophecy makes clear that we should stand by the Constitution of the United States as it was given by the inspiration of God. That means the document, in its entirety, as intended by its drafters. The world has changed, Cassiopeia. The American government has changed. From all I’ve seen and read, there are many in the United States who would love to be rid of their federal government. We are just one group, but the time has come for the church to go a separate way. Elder Rowan will lead the secession of Utah. Those states you noticed on the map in my study? They will follow our lead.”