The Lincoln Myth (43 page)

Two clicks signaled success.

She worked the bolt free from the jamb, then entered and closed
the door, relocking the latch on the inside. As she suspected, electrical boxes dotted one wall. Lawn and garden equipment filled about a third of the space. Light spilled in through four windows. Her pupils were wide to the night, and she found the main breaker on the outside of one of the boxes.

Switch that off and she’d have maybe five minutes before somebody checked the circuits, especially once they noticed through the trees that houses in the distance remained lit.

But that’s all the time she’d need.

She found a dirty rag near a lawn mower and used it to wipe the lock latch clean, then to grip the electrical cutoff.

M
ALONE SMILED AS
S
ALISBURY
H
OUSE WENT DARK
.

“What the hell, Pappy?” Luke said in his ear.

“She’s making her move. Your turn, Frat Boy.”

“Bring her on. I’m ready.”

Yeah, right.

L
UKE STOOD IN THE
G
REAT
H
ALL WHEN THE HOUSE LIGHTS EXTINGUISHED
. There was at first just a low murmur from those around him. Then, once folks realized the electricity was not returning, voices rose. He immediately turned and headed back for the Common Room, where the pocket watch waited. Darkness inside ran deep, the going slow as he had to be careful of others and constantly excuse himself.

“She’s back inside,” Malone said in his ear. “Have fun.”

He could almost see the smirk on Malone’s face. But he’d not met a woman yet he couldn’t handle. Katie Bishop was a perfect example. He’d certainly turned those lemons into lemonade.

He found the short flight of stairs that led down to the Common Room. Luckily the corridor was wide and not as populated as it had been at the Great Hall. He entered the main room and noticed shadows moving toward the walls, a male voice asking everyone to inch that way until they found it. Smart move. Protects the cases in the middle. Keeps people controlled and contained. Shows that somebody is in charge. Of course, he ignored the instruction and eased toward the third case.

Cassiopeia Vitt was already there.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“The guy that’s here to keep you from stealing this watch.”

“Bad move, Frat Boy,” Malone said in his ear. “Don’t give her a heads-up.”

He ignored the advice and said, “Move away from the case.”

The black form stood still.

“I don’t stutter,” he made clear. “Move away from the case.”

“Is there a problem?” a new male voice said, the same one who’d been directing traffic a few moments ago. Probably one of the cops.

Cassiopeia moved fast.

One leg came into the air and clipped the cop in the chest, sending him sprawling backward, crashing into an adjacent display case, which slammed to the wood floor, glass obliterated in a shattering crescendo.

People on the perimeter gasped in surprise.

Before Luke could react a second kick caught him square in the crotch. Breath spewed from his lungs. Pain burst upward and outward.

Mother of—

His legs collapsed.

Down he went.

He tried to gather himself and stand, but the pain was too intense. He grabbed for his aching midsection, fighting nausea and helpless to do anything as Vitt shattered the display case’s glass cover and claimed the watch.

“What’s happening?” Malone asked in his ears. “Talk to me.”

He tried, but nothing came out.

He’d played a little football in high school and had been racked before. It even happened a couple of times in the army.

But nothing like this.

Vitt vanished into the darkness, amid the chaos.

He drew a breath and staggered to his feet.

People were trying to flee the room.

Suck it up
, he told himself.

“She’s got the watch … and … is leaving,” he reported into the mike.

He started after her.

C
ASSIOPEIA WAS BAFFLED AS TO HOW THAT MAN KNEW WHAT
she was after. He’d obviously been waiting for her to make a move. The voice had sounded younger, with a touch of the American South she’d come to recognize from Cotton. Had Stephanie tracked her here? That seemed the only explanation, which meant the younger man was not alone.

She kept moving through the dark mass of people, edging herself toward the front door. Her car waited only a few hundred meters behind the house. Getting there from here through the house could be a problem.

Rounding the exterior would work much better.

So she found the door latch and eased it open, slipping out into the night.

L
UKE HEADED BACK TOWARD THE MAIN ENTRANCE AND THE
Great Hall. The folks remaining in the Common Room had determined
that glass was now everywhere on the floor, caution being advised, so he’d used that momentary distraction to slip away, finding his way through the dark.

His crotch ached, but the pain had eased.

No matter, he wasn’t going to allow Cassiopeia Vitt to get away. He’d never hear the end of it from Malone or Stephanie, especially after the old-timer had warned him. He turned a corner and felt his way along the wall to the short flight of steps that led up to the entrance foyer.

He heard the front door open, then close.

Was that her?

It made sense.

So he headed for the exit.

He opened the door and stepped outside.

Ahead he saw nothing.

Then he caught a glimpse of Cassiopeia Vitt, near the house wall, turning a corner, heading back toward its rear. This time he provided her no warning, but said into the mike, “She’s coming your way, Pappy.”

Then he followed.

FIFTY-SEVEN

R
ICHARD
N
IXON ENTERED THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND SHOOK
hands with the Prophet Joseph Fielding Smith, his two counselors, and all of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The president of the United States had come to Salt Lake campaigning for local Republican candidates in the congressional midterm elections. He’d brought his wife, daughter Tricia, and two cabinet members—George Romney and David Kennedy—who were both Saints. The customary public appearances had all been made, and now they were safe inside the church’s main administrative building, behind closed doors, paneled walls and a coffered wood ceiling enclosing them. Nixon and Smith sat at one end of a polished table, the rest of the apostles occupying its sides
.

“I’ve always found my visits to Salt Lake City to be extremely heartwarming,” Nixon said. “Your church is a great institution that has played a part in this administration.”

The date was July 24, 1970. Pioneer Day. An official Utah state holiday, designated to commemorate the entry, in 1847, of the first wave of people to the Salt Lake basin. Parades, fireworks, rodeos, and other festivities traditionally marked the day. Like July 4 for Latter-day Saints. Later, Nixon himself was scheduled to attend the famous Days of ’47 Rodeo at the Salt Palace
.

“I don’t know of any group in America that has contributed more to our strong moral leadership and high moral standards—the spirit that has kept America going through bad times as well as good times. No group has done more than those who are members of this church.”

“Why are you here?” Smith asked
.

Nixon seemed taken aback by the abruptness of the question. “I just told you. I came to offer my praise.”

“Mr. President, you personally requested this private audience with myself, my counselors, and the Quorum of Twelve. No president has ever asked that of us before. Surely you have to understand why we would be curious. So here we are. Just us. What is it you want?”

Smith, though a consummate gentleman, was no fool. He was the tenth prophet to lead the church, his father had been the sixth, and his grandfather had been the brother of founder Joseph Smith. He became an apostle in 1910, at age twenty-five, and had only six months back been elevated to prophet at the age of ninety-four, the oldest man ever selected. He was the only one in the room who’d actually been present when the temple in Salt Lake had been dedicated in 1893
.

He bowed to no one
.

Not even presidents of the United States
.

Nixon’s face changed, shifting from a countenance of congeniality to one of a man on a mission. “All right. I like directness. Saves time. Something was given to you in 1863 by Abraham Lincoln, something you never returned. I want it back.”

“Why is that?” Smith asked
.

“Because it belongs to the United States.”

“Yet it was given to us for safekeeping.”

Nixon studied the men around the table. “I see you know what I’m talking about. Good. That’ll make this simpler.”

Smith pointed a wizened finger at the president. “You have no idea what it says, do you?”

“I know that it caused Lincoln great anguish. I know that he sent it away for a reason. I know that, as part of the bargain, Brigham Young provided Lincoln with the location of a mine, one that people have sought for a long time. A place where a lot of your gold may be hidden away, gold lost during the Mormon War when 22 wagons disappeared.”