“They gave us no choice,” the president said. “None at all.”
“I see the stone behind you. It’s been a long time since I gazed upon it. I visited the monument once, long ago, when you could still climb the stairs and see them.”
She wondered what was happening. Why the cyberlink to Utah, which she assumed was on an encoded line?
“Our church has always cherished stone,” Snow said. “It is our preferred building material. Maybe because it is harder to destroy. Our wooden temples never stood for long, most burned away by mobs. Finally, once we began to construct them of thick rock, they endured. To this day, nearly all of those early structures remain.”
She stared again at the donation from Utah.
“Stone has also held another special purpose,” Snow said. “Joseph Smith first glimpsed the golden plates inside a stone box. On October 2, 1841, Smith placed the original manuscript of Book of Mormon inside the Nauvoo Hotel cornerstone. Brigham Young sealed documents and coins inside the cornerstone for the Salt Lake temple, a practice that has been repeated many times at other temples. For us, sealing things inside rock is a sign of reverence.”
It hit her. “The document from the founders is here?”
“Brigham Young thought it only fitting that it be returned to Washington,” Snow said. “So he sealed it inside his gift for the monument. This he told to John Taylor, the man who ultimately succeeded him, and the secret has been passed from prophet to prophet. We revere this nation, and are honored to be a part of it. Only a few, like Rowan, thought otherwise. But these men were anomalies, no different from the radicals of any other religion. The men who ultimately rose to lead this church realized the gravity of what they knew, so they kept the secret. As they should.”
“Is that why Nixon was rebuffed in 1970?” Daniels asked.
“Precisely. There was no way the information would be revealed. Rowan, to his credit, is the first to ever learn as much as he did. But being next in line gave him access few others had ever possessed. Being a senator opened up even more resources.”
She stepped to the commemorative stone and lightly caressed its pale gray surface. Behind the façade hid a document that could dismantle the United States of America.
“Why am I here?” she asked. “Why allow me to know this?”
“Those deaths weigh on us all,” Daniels said. “You have a right to know that what they died for actually exists.”
She appreciated the gesture. But she’d been around the block too many times to count. A lot of people had died on her watch. None of the deaths was easy, and none was forgotten.
“Abraham Lincoln’s reputation remains intact,” Snow said from the screen. “As it should. Every nation needs its heroes.”
“The greatest enemy of truth is often not the lie—deliberate, contrived and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive and unrealistic.”
She was impressed with Daniels’ statement and asked about its source.
“John Kennedy. And he’s right. A myth is so much harder to counter than a lie. We’ll allow the Lincoln myth to continue. It seems to have served this country well.”
“Within the White Horse Prophecy,” Snow said, “the people of the Rocky Mountains, Saints, were described as the White Horse. It was said they will establish Zion and guard the Constitution. The people of the United States were the Pale Horse. The Black Horse was the force of darkness threatening the Constitution. Then there was the Red Horse, not specifically identified, but noted as a powerful force that would play a key role.”
Snow paused.
“Ms. Nelle, you, Mr. Malone, and the young Mr. Daniels are that Red Horse. Joseph Smith said that he loved the Constitution. It was made by the inspiration of God and it will be preserved and saved by the efforts of the White Horse and by the Red Horse who will combine in its defense. We’ve always thought that prophecy suspect, created long after the Civil War, more fiction than truth, but everything played out exactly as predicted. So whoever may have created the prophecy was right.”
“What do we do about what’s inside this stone?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Daniels said. “There it will stay.”
“And Madison’s notes on the subject?”
“I burned them.”
She was shocked to hear that, but understood the necessity. Katie Bishop had already been sworn to secrecy, on threat of criminal prosecution. But with no tangible evidence, anything she might say would never be believed.
“All is as it was,” Daniels said.
But she wondered about that.