The Lincoln Myth(108)
But there was something else.
She asked, “And Cassiopeia?”
Cotton had been provided a chance to handle her in Iowa and failed. Luke’s field report was not encouraging, either. Cassiopeia was far too close to the situation to be effective any longer.
She knew what had to be done.
“I’ll handle her, too.”
SIXTY-ONE
SALT LAKE CITY
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 11
10:00 A.M.
MALONE ADMIRED TEMPLE SQUARE. HE’D NEVER VISITED BEFORE, but he’d read about what had long ago been accomplished here. A bronze plaque attached to the high stone wall that rimmed its outer perimeter noted the origin.
FIXED BY ORSON PRATT ASSISTED BY HENRY G. SHERWOOD, AUGUST 3, 1847, WHEN BEGINNING THE ORIGINAL SURVEY OF “GREAT SALT LAKE CITY,” AROUND THE “MORMON” TEMPLE SITE DESIGNATED BY BRIGHAM YOUNG JULY 28, 1847.
THE CITY STREETS WERE NAMED AND NUMBERED FROM THIS POINT.
A concrete monument stood beneath the marker, upon which was chiseled BASE AND MERIDIAN. Here was the starting point from which everything around him—an entire city, home now to two hundred thousand people—had been built.
Hard not to be impressed.
He and Luke had flown out of Des Moines just after dawn in a Department of Justice plane sent by Stephanie. They’d been told that Salazar and Cassiopeia were likewise headed their way. Senator Thaddeus Rowan had left Washington, D.C., late last night, back now at his Utah residence.
Stephanie’s instructions were for them both to be here at 10:00 A.M. All would be explained, she’d said. The placard and monument stood adjacent to busy South Temple Street, just across from a downtown shopping complex and the Deseret Book Company. Both he and Luke were armed, carrying Magellan Billet–issued Berettas identical to the one back in Copenhagen beneath his bed. He’d called the bookstore earlier, after they’d landed, to see how things were going. Luckily he employed three ladies who treated the store as their own, so all was under control. He appreciated all that they did, and rewarded them by paying a high wage and sharing the profits. Considering the mayhem the bookstore had endured over the past few years, it was amazing they stuck around.
A black Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows emerged from traffic and stopped at the curb. The rear window lowered, and an older man’s face appeared.
“Mr. Malone. Mr. Daniels. I’m Charles Snow, here to retrieve you.”
The front passenger door opened and Stephanie emerged.
“Why am I not surprised you’re here?” Malone said.
“ ’Cause this isn’t your first rodeo.”
He stared at Luke. “I assume you knew.”
“I am on the payroll, Pappy.”
The driver, a younger man, left the car and offered a set of keys.
“I thought, perhaps, Mr. Daniels could drive,” Snow said. “And you and I could sit back here, Mr. Malone.”
He knew both the name and the face, recognizing Snow as the current leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He climbed into the Navigator’s rear seat, Luke and Stephanie into the front.
“It’s important that I come with you,” Snow said. “My legs are weak, but they’ll have to work. I’ll make sure of it.”
He wanted to know, “Why is this so important?”
Snow nodded. “It is, for both my church and our country.”
“We’re going to Falta Nada?”
“That we are. Mr. Daniels, if you will engage the navigation, the route is already programmed. It’s about an hour’s drive.” Snow paused. “But in the old days it was a good two-day ride by horseback.”
Luke drove the car away, the navigation screen lit with a map, an arrow pointing the way.
“Ms. Nelle tells me you were once one of the government’s best agents,” Snow said.
“She’s been known to exaggerate.”
“President Daniels said the same thing.”
“He can tell a few whoppers himself.”
Snow chuckled. “He’s a tough man. My heart hurts for him. He may have some difficult choices to soon make.”
He thought he understood. “Salazar?”
Snow nodded. “Evil. But I’ve only learned the extent of how bad over the past two days. He killed one of your agents. I have prayed for that departed soul.”
“Not much consolation to his widow and children.”
The older man appraised him with a hard glare. “No. I imagine not.”
He understood about killing. Never a good thing. But there was a difference between the heat-of-battle self-defense, and in-cold-blood, one Josepe Salazar seemed to not care about.
“I need to know what Falta Nada is.”
He noticed that Stephanie had not turned back and joined the conversation. Instead she kept her gaze out the front windshield, her mouth closed.