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Something about this wasn’t right.
He heard no voices from inside.
He’d have to kick the door from its jamb in order to enter, which wasn’t a problem except that it would announce his presence loud and clear.
He heard movement on the deck.
And felt a vibration across the wood floor.
MALONE STARED THROUGH THE WINDOWS AS HE ROUNDED the covered porch. Everything inside had the look and feel of a typical mountain retreat, its size and furnishings signaling affluence. Still not a sound from anywhere in the house. Had they seen them coming and retreated to safety?
He didn’t think so.
His hunch had been confirmed by the wood floor inside, where a layer of dust coated the planks. Unmarred. No sign that anyone else had entered and walked about.
This was a dead end.
“Luke,” he said.
The younger agent appeared from around the corner. “I was hoping that was you. Nobody’s here.”
He shook his head in agreement. But Stephanie had specifically said this was where Rowan, Salazar, and Cassiopeia had gone.
“She lied to us.”
They both darted toward the front porch. Stephanie was nowhere to be seen. He leaped down the stairs two at a time and ran for the tree where he’d last seen her.
Gone.
A noise on the trail behind him caught his attention. He whirled and leveled his gun. Luke did the same. Charles Snow appeared, helped with his steps by the two young Danites.
They lowered their weapons.
“What’s happening?” Snow asked as he dislodged his arms from his helpers’ shoulders.
“Stephanie’s gone,” Malone said.
“The house is empty and locked tight,” Luke noted.
“She didn’t tell you? The house is not Falta Nada.”
That information grabbed Malone’s attention.
“It was built later.” Snow pointed to the mountain. “Falta Nada is up there, a cave, you can’t miss it.”
STEPHANIE HUSTLED UP THE ROCKY PATH, CLIMBING THE forested ridge. The air was noticeably cooler. She’d misled Cotton and Luke to provide herself an opportunity to slip away. Snow had told her the details on the flight west last night.
“There is something you need to know about this place,” Snow said. “There will be a dwelling at the location, but it is not Falta Nada. The site is above the house, inside the mountain. The trail is easy to spot. One of the early settlers discovered the place. The story goes that he was cutting timber when he spotted mountain lion tracks. He followed them to a high ledge and found a gash in the rock. A cave opened beyond, which he explored. Fifty years ago we wired that cave with lights and the power remains. It is a place only a few have seen. Once special, now forgotten. The fact that Brigham Young chose it as his vault for both the gold and what Lincoln sent him is no surprise.”
Malone was right. She’d created this mess and it was up to her to fix it. How to accomplish that was still a mystery, but she’d figure it out. Doubtful either Luke or Cotton would find her, since they had no idea of the real locale. True, Charles Snow could tell them. But by the time they retreated to the cars, learned the truth, and returned it would all be over.
Ahead she spotted the cave entrance, framed by a doorway of pine poles iced with green moss. An iron gate at its center hung half open, a destroyed padlock on the ground. She retrieved it and saw the damage. Now she new why three shots had been fired.
She tossed the lock aside and found her gun.
Ahead was a lighted passage.
Time to practice what she preached.
Two steps and she was inside.
MALONE WAS FURIOUS.
He’d pushed Stephanie, and now she was walking into something that she was ill equipped to handle.
“Pappy, nothin’ about this is good,” Luke said as they raced up the trail.
“She’s going to get herself killed.”
“Let’s not let that happen.”
“That’s certainly the plan. Unfortunately, we have no idea what’s up there. Unless you know something I don’t.”
“Not this time. She kept me in the dark.”
He stared up the trail. Everyone had a head start on them.
“It’s just you and me,” he said to Luke.
“I get that. And I’m with you, all the way.”
SIXTY-SIX
CASSIOPEIA WAS IMPRESSED. THE CHAMBER THEY STOOD INSIDE was twenty meters across, that much and more wide, and that tall. Stalactites hung like icicles. Needlelike crystals and smooth and spiraling helictites corkscrewed downward. Draperies of orange calcite stretched down, thin as paper, which allowed light from the incandescent fixtures to shine through to a spectacular effect. Popcorn clumps of white rock dotted the walls. Toward the center was a pool of still green water, its surface as flat and reflective as a mirror. On one edge stood a plinth that displayed an enormous statue of the angel Moroni. Four meters high, sculpted from stone, in the familiar pose of blowing a trumpet, everything sheathed in gold leaf.
She stepped close to the image.
“Having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people,” Rowan said. “Revelation 14:6. Moroni is our messenger from heaven. This is the plaster original from which the hammered copper statue atop the Salt Lake temple was fashioned. Brigham Young himself brought this here.”
Josepe was clearly in awe. “He is the angel of light, who wore a loose robe of most exquisite whiteness. A whiteness beyond anything ever seen. His whole person glorious beyond description.”
Rowan nodded. “You quote the prophet well. That is exactly how Joseph Smith described Moroni, and it’s how we try to depict him.”
“But he’s golden, not white,” she said.
“Our way of accentuating the brightness.”
But she wasn’t so sure.
She’d read once that Smith may have come across the name Moroni from reading the treasure-hunting stories of William Kidd. Legend held that Kidd buried his treasure on the Comoros Islands. Moroni was the capital city of the Union of the Comoros. Smith also named the hill where he found the golden plates Cumorah. Coincidence? If so, she wondered about the odds.
“This is an underground temple,” Rowan said. “Created long ago by the prophets as a place of worship inside the earth. Few come here anymore. But this is where Prophet Brigham hid what Abraham Lincoln gave him.”
She’d already surveyed the chamber. Except for the statue and the artificial lighting, there was nothing else man-made in sight.
“The one time I came,” Rowan said, “there were artifacts on display from the Spanish. Pieces of bone, buttons, bits of iron, and shoulder yokes. The yokes were cut from cedar, about three feet wide, with a curve in the center to fit the bearer’s neck. There were notches on each end to secure heavy, rawhide ore sacks. I was amazed how they’d survived the centuries.”
But no artifacts were here now.
“Where do we look?” Josepe asked.
“In a moment,” Rowan said. “First, there is a matter we must deal with.”
The senator pointed a finger her way.
“This woman is a spy.”
SALAZAR WAS SHOCKED BY THE APOSTLE’S DECLARATION. “A spy? You’re mistaken.”
“Am I? Ask yourself, Josepe, how did she reenter your life? After so many years, and at this precise moment.”
“She’s been nothing but helpful.”
“As spies are. How else can they ingratiate themselves? You pressed me yesterday about how I learned of this place. I finally revealed that I possessed a source within the government, one who is close to our enemies. That source told me not only this location, but that this woman is working for the president of the United States.”
“And you believed that?” Cassiopeia asked. “Of course your enemies want to create confusion in your ranks. What better way than to provide false information.”
“H
ow did that source know your exact name?” Rowan asked. “How did the source even know you existed?”
Salazar waited for a reply.
“I can only assume,” she said, “that your source is in the intelligence business, aware of what that man Malone has been doing.”
“Interesting you mention his name. My source also said you not only know Cotton Malone, but that you are romantically linked with him.”
“Is that true?” Salazar demanded, his voice rising.
CASSIOPEIA FELT CAGED.
Stephanie had intentionally compromised her, surely in response to her breaking off all contact and stealing the watch.
She heard the anger in Josepe’s question.
Two options.
Lie or tell the truth.
SALAZAR WAITED FOR AN ANSWER, UNSURE WHAT MIGHT COME from Cassioepia’s mouth. The fact that she’d not instantly denied the accusation gave him pause. His heart thudded, and his breathing had gone shallow. His head spun.
The angel appeared.
Hovering near the statue of Moroni, the face unadorned with its usual reassuring smile.
“We might have been wrong about her.”
He could not reply, so he simply shook his head, ever so gently, refusing to acknowledge the fact.
“Do not be ashamed, Josepe. The time for pretense is over. Reveal me to them. Let them know that the prophets are with you.”
He’d never spoken of the angel to anyone.
“What are you looking at?” Rowan asked him.
