The Mormon Candidate - a Novel by Avraham Azrieli Page B
Authors: Avraham Azrieli
Tags: Mystery
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which contained the Medal of Honor recipients’ personal information and had Joe Morgan’s handwritten note on it , would prove that the presidential candidate had directed the copying of confidential data from government computers for secret LDS baptizing rituals of dead heroes . If this came out, it w ould outrage not only veterans and their families , but many other voters.
The events at the Marine Corps r ide now made sense. Zachariah had been in possession of evidence that could derail Joe Morgan’s presidential campaign . T he mysterious white Ducati had waited to confront him , or to cause the crash. Inspector Porter , conveniently nearby, had searched the body and removed the incriminating floppy disk.
It was a plausible theory, but Ben hoped that Z achariah had taken precautions against losing the floppy disk . The answer, Ben hoped, would be in the journal.
Chapter 24
Z.H. Journal Entry # 10 :
The ceremony at our magnificent Washington DC Temple took place in the afternoon of Veterans Day . Only the necessary few Saints were allowed to attend and witness. My job was to load the floppy disk into the computer and make sure that each name was displayed and called by the temple worker in charge of the ritual .
Bishop Morgan climbed into the baptismal bath , a huge container made of white mar ble and resting on twelve giant oxen , also white , which symbolized the twelve tribes of Israel .
The temple worker, standing in the water next to the bishop, watched the auxiliary computer screen set up next to the baptismal bath. When I clicked on the first name , it appeared before the temple worker , who recited the prayer and declared, “ For and o n behalf of Lieutenant Darrin Farley , as a proxy and stand in, you are now being baptized to the church of Jesus Christ of Latter -d ay Saints. ” He then pushed Bishop Morgan backward, immersing him completely in the water, and pulled him back up.
Only then, seeing the glowing joy on Bishop Morgan’s face, did I realize how this whole thing amounted to much more than providing a spiritual ri te for dead heroes. With each successive hero’s name and dunking, Bishop Morgan’s expression became more elated until he was echoing the temple worker’s declarations at the top of his voice and falling back into the water for the repeated immersion with a joy that seemed to heat up the lukewarm water in the baptismal bath. I watched him while my fingers hit the keys, going down the list . I wondered whether Joe Morgan somehow felt that he was uniting with their souls , infusing himself with their virtues, and acquiring their courage .
There were nineteen men who received the Medal of Honor twice, and I hear d their names one by one as the temple worker declared each one.
Dread came over me as the dates on the left side of my screen approached 1991 . I had avoided looking at the captain’s name when I had copied and pasted hi s information from the VA pension records to the list on the floppy disk . His wife was still alive, so I had no need to deal with her information. And now, as the blinking curser reached that line, I averted my eyes, clicked on it, and quickly covered my ears to block o ut the temple worker’s voice as he declared the captain’s name, followed by Bishop Morgan’s cheerful repetition before his face disappeared underwater.
Bishop Morgan was helped out of the water and down the few steps to the floor. Standing there in his dripping temple undergarments, he turned to face the twelve oxen . H is athletic body straightened up, and he saluted. This was not part of the ceremony, and everyone watched him in silence. After a long moment, Bishop Morgan turned and left.
No one paid attention to me, sitting at the computer, deflated and guilt y . And w hat I did next , while instinctive and without a second thought, in time turned out to be a lot more fateful than anyone could have imagine d . I ejected the floppy disk , which contained
The events at the Marine Corps r ide now made sense. Zachariah had been in possession of evidence that could derail Joe Morgan’s presidential campaign . T he mysterious white Ducati had waited to confront him , or to cause the crash. Inspector Porter , conveniently nearby, had searched the body and removed the incriminating floppy disk.
It was a plausible theory, but Ben hoped that Z achariah had taken precautions against losing the floppy disk . The answer, Ben hoped, would be in the journal.
Chapter 24
Z.H. Journal Entry # 10 :
The ceremony at our magnificent Washington DC Temple took place in the afternoon of Veterans Day . Only the necessary few Saints were allowed to attend and witness. My job was to load the floppy disk into the computer and make sure that each name was displayed and called by the temple worker in charge of the ritual .
Bishop Morgan climbed into the baptismal bath , a huge container made of white mar ble and resting on twelve giant oxen , also white , which symbolized the twelve tribes of Israel .
The temple worker, standing in the water next to the bishop, watched the auxiliary computer screen set up next to the baptismal bath. When I clicked on the first name , it appeared before the temple worker , who recited the prayer and declared, “ For and o n behalf of Lieutenant Darrin Farley , as a proxy and stand in, you are now being baptized to the church of Jesus Christ of Latter -d ay Saints. ” He then pushed Bishop Morgan backward, immersing him completely in the water, and pulled him back up.
Only then, seeing the glowing joy on Bishop Morgan’s face, did I realize how this whole thing amounted to much more than providing a spiritual ri te for dead heroes. With each successive hero’s name and dunking, Bishop Morgan’s expression became more elated until he was echoing the temple worker’s declarations at the top of his voice and falling back into the water for the repeated immersion with a joy that seemed to heat up the lukewarm water in the baptismal bath. I watched him while my fingers hit the keys, going down the list . I wondered whether Joe Morgan somehow felt that he was uniting with their souls , infusing himself with their virtues, and acquiring their courage .
There were nineteen men who received the Medal of Honor twice, and I hear d their names one by one as the temple worker declared each one.
Dread came over me as the dates on the left side of my screen approached 1991 . I had avoided looking at the captain’s name when I had copied and pasted hi s information from the VA pension records to the list on the floppy disk . His wife was still alive, so I had no need to deal with her information. And now, as the blinking curser reached that line, I averted my eyes, clicked on it, and quickly covered my ears to block o ut the temple worker’s voice as he declared the captain’s name, followed by Bishop Morgan’s cheerful repetition before his face disappeared underwater.
Bishop Morgan was helped out of the water and down the few steps to the floor. Standing there in his dripping temple undergarments, he turned to face the twelve oxen . H is athletic body straightened up, and he saluted. This was not part of the ceremony, and everyone watched him in silence. After a long moment, Bishop Morgan turned and left.
No one paid attention to me, sitting at the computer, deflated and guilt y . And w hat I did next , while instinctive and without a second thought, in time turned out to be a lot more fateful than anyone could have imagine d . I ejected the floppy disk , which contained
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