The Lincoln Myth (Cotton Malone 9)

“And that’s what happened,” Davis said. “General Conner, who commanded the federal troops in Utah, was ordered not to confront the Mormons on the issue of polygamy, or any other issue for that matter. He was told to leave them alone. It wasn’t until 1882 that the next federal criminal act on polygamy came along. That one was a problem, and thousands were prosecuted. But by then the Civil War was long over and both Lincoln and Young were dead.”

“How do you know about this deal?”

“Classified records.”

“From 1863?”

Davis sat silent for a moment, and she could see that he was troubled. He was legendary for his poker face, but she knew better. She’d seen him at his most vulnerable, and likewise. Pretense did not exist between them.

“The Mormons didn’t trust Lincoln,” Davis said. “They had no reason to trust anybody in Washington. They’d been ignored, put off, and lied to for decades. The government was their worst enemy. But finally here they were in the catbird seat. So they made a deal, but they also demanded collateral.”

She was amazed. “What could Lincoln have given them?”

“Here’s where we know only bits and pieces. But we know enough. Worse, though, is that Senator Thadeaus Rowan knows some of it, too. He’s an apostle in the Mormon Church and, besides us, they’re the only other people alive who have any clue about this.”

“That’s why you wanted Salazar scoped out? His connection to Rowan?”

Davis nodded. “We became aware of some things Rowan was doing about a year ago. We were then told of the connection to Salazar. When we made the request to you for the dossier, we realized we had a problem. Now it’s grown.”

She tried to recall what she could about the Mormons. She was not a religious person, and from what she knew about Edwin Davis, he was similar.

“Rowan is smart,” Davis said. “He’s plotted this through carefully and waited for the right moment to act. We need our best people on this. What’s about to happen could have catastrophic consequences.”

“All my people are good.”

“Can we keep Malone involved?”

“I don’t know.”

“Pay him. Do whatever. But I want him on this.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this anxious. Is it that bad?”

“I’m sorry that I deceived you. When I asked for the dossier on Salazar, I should have told you what I knew. I held back, hoping we were wrong.”

“What’s changed?”

“We weren’t wrong. I just heard from the secretary of the interior, who’s with Rowan in Utah. They found some bodies and wagons from the 19th century in Zion National Park. There’s a connection to the Mormons. Rowan flew straight back to Salt Lake City and is meeting with the prophet of the church right now. What they’re discussing could change this country.”

“I still have a man missing. That’s my primary concern at the moment.”

Davis stood. “Then deal with it. But I need you in Washington tomorrow morning. We have to handle this quickly and carefully.”

She nodded.

Davis shook his head. “Thomas Jefferson once said that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical, a medicine for the sound health of government. Jefferson didn’t live in our world. I’m not sure that would be true anymore.”

“What are we talking about here?”

Davis stared at her with ice in his eyes.

“The end of the United States of America.”

TEN

COPENHAGEN

MALONE WATCHED AS LUKE REACTED TO THE MEN’S ADVANCE, protecting Barry Kirk. He moved toward the front window, hand on his gun. He’d never answered Luke’s question about a rear door.

“What’s going on?” Kirk asked.

“We have visitors.”

“Where? Who?”

“Outside.”

He saw Kirk’s gaze dart past the window to the square beyond. The two men were nearly at the bookshop.

“Look familiar?” Luke asked Kirk.

“Danites. They’re Salazar’s. I know them. They found me in Sweden. They found me here. You people are useless. You’re going to get me killed.”

“Pappy, that back door. Where is it?”

“Just follow the aisle in front of you. But you understand, with all those people around out there, these two aren’t going to make a scene.”

“Okay, I get it. That’s why they want us out back. How many you think are waiting there?”

“Enough that one gun between us is not going to solve the problem.”

“Call the police,” Kirk said.

Luke shook his head. “Useless as teats on a boar hog. But it sounds like somebody already has. Those sirens are getting louder.”

“We don’t know if those are headed here,” Malone said. “But the last thing we need is to be bogged down with the locals. We’re going out the front and hope these guys don’t want a scene.”

“You got a plan after that?”

“Every good agent does.”

He’d ragged Luke for his rash decision to flee out the back, but he admired the young man’s cool under pressure.

And he’d heard what Kirk had called the men outside.

Danites.

If that group existed at all—and there’d been much historical debate on the issue—it would have been two centuries ago. A reaction to a different time and place. An understandable way to counter the violence Mormons had routinely faced. So what was happening here?

He grabbed his keys off the counter, then opened the front door. Noise from the people enjoying the Danish night grew louder, as did the sirens. He stepped out and waited until Luke and Kirk joined him, then shut and locked the door.

The two men eyed them.

He turned right toward the Café Norden, which anchored the east end of Højbro Plads. The walk was fifty yards across crowded pavement. Between them and the café the lighted Stork Fountain flowed with splashing water. People sat along its edge socializing. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the two men following. He deliberately slowed to give them a chance to meet up. His pulse quickened, senses alert. He wanted any confrontation to happen here, in public.

The two men adjusted the angle of their approach and ended up in front, blocking the way. The cold weight of the gun beneath his jacket only partially reassured him. Beyond the square, back toward the canal, where the rental boat was moored and the street ended, four city police cars skidded to a stop.

Two officers rushed their way.

Another two headed for the boat.

“That ain’t good, Pappy,” Luke muttered.

The uniforms rushed into Højbro Plads and turned toward his bookshop. They gazed through the front windows and tested the locked door. Then one of them busted the glass and they entered with guns drawn.

“You killed my people.”

Malone turned and faced the two men. “Gee, I’m so sorry. Anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“You think this is a joke?”

“I don’t know what this is. But your guys came for a fight. All I did was give them one.”

“We want him,” the man said, pointing at Kirk.

“Can’t get everything you want in this world.”

“We’ll have him, one way or another.”

He brushed past, and they kept walking toward the café.

He’d guessed right.

These two did not want a scene.