Destroying Angel Read online

  “Any other entries?”

  “No, this is the only one I found.”

  “Once is enough,” Miriam said. “Run it again.” Krantz obeyed, and Miriam had him pause it when Taylor Junior looked up. “Yes, he definitely sees the camera. Check out how his face changes, and then he looks away too quickly.”

  Eliza thought of Taylor Junior walking around town at night, imagined him outside the house, looking up at her window, and shuddered. And then there was the bag.

  Jacob leaned back in the sofa with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “What’s he doing? Robbing houses?”

  “He’s preparing for another attack,” Eliza said. “Look at the bag. It changes weight.”

  Krantz ran it a third time.

  “I almost didn’t see it,” she said, “because I was watching his face. But see the duffel bag? It’s lighter on the way back. Not empty—maybe he did steal supplies—but he left some stuff in town too.”

  “But what?” Miriam asked.

  “Could be anything. Weapons, maybe.”

  “Huge risk coming into town through Witch’s Warts,” Miriam said. “Everyone in Blister Creek knows Taylor Junior escaped that way. People see someone sneaking out of Witch’s Warts late at night, they’re going to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Krantz said. “I’ve seen grannies with .44 Magnums and twelve-year-old kids toting shotguns. It’s like Mogadishu out there. I’m scared to drive through town after dark without my lights flashing.”

  “Can you blame them?” Miriam said. “And imagine if they knew about this tape.”

  “Better keep it quiet for now,” Jacob said. “We’re on high enough alert already.”

  “Of course. But we can’t sit on our hands either, not when that guy is sneaking around at night.” Miriam hesitated. “You know the best way to put an end to this, don’t you?”

  Eliza knew what Miriam was driving at—she and Krantz had discussed that option several times. “If the FBI can’t find them, what makes you think we’ve got a chance?”

  “So, what, we sit here doing nothing?” Miriam said.

  Krantz turned to Jacob. “What should we do, boss?”

  “You’ve got my permission to spend whatever it takes on CCTV. I hate to turn the valley into a prison camp blanketed with cameras, but if the alternative is another attack…” Jacob shook his head and looked distracted for a moment, then focused his eyes again. “Miriam, what if you went undercover?”

  “Undercover? Where?”

  “Tap into the gossip mill. See if any women are acting suspicious. Complain about me, try to draw out any grumblers. Maybe he’s getting help.”

  Eliza frowned. Who would help Taylor Junior now? If he’d had sympathizers at one time, surely the horrific chemical weapon attacks at Zarahemla, the hospital, and Blister Creek had destroyed that bond. And after the hideout in Dark Canyon and the sinkhole in Witch’s Warts, she didn’t think Taylor Junior needed help creeping in and out of the valley undetected.

  From Miriam’s snort, it was clear she didn’t think much of Jacob’s idea either.

  “I know it’s a reach,” Jacob started. “But we don’t have much to work with. What if—”

  “Hold on,” Eliza interrupted. “I just thought of something.”

  There were people who had helped Taylor Junior. Never mind the remnants of his church, hiding even deeper in the wilderness—what about the three men who had joined him in his attack? Two of the men had died, but one had not.

  “There’s one man who knows something. You could say he’s a captive audience.”

  Jacob blinked, and then a frown spread across his face. “He isn’t talking.”

  “Not yet, he’s not.”

  “I don’t see how we’ll change that,” Krantz said. “We have nothing to offer, no plea bargain or early release for good behavior. He’s serving so many consecutive life sentences, the sun will go nova before that bastard is up for parole. And you can bet they tried everything short of waterboarding to get it out of him. He wouldn’t talk.”

  “Where is Elder Kimball now?” Eliza asked.

  “Federal Correction Institution, Phoenix. Currently halfway through six months of solitary confinement, according to Agent Fayer.”

  “Could Fayer get us an audience?”

  “Maybe,” Krantz said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, if we could promise results, she’d try. Assuming she’s out of the doghouse herself.”

  “What are you thinking?” Jacob asked Eliza.

  “You remember all that talk about the angel?”

  Jacob’s face darkened. “I remember.”

  “Does Kimball really believe an angel talks to him? Or is that a lie?”

  “I used to think a lie. Now I’m not sure. Maybe he does believe. He mentioned an angel when he testified in court. What are you getting at?”

  Krantz leaned forward and rested his massive forearms on his knees, brows furrowed, as if trying to puzzle out all this Mormon talk.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Miriam interrupted. “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “Hold on,” Jacob said. “I want to know what she’s thinking.”

  Miriam shook her head. “You don’t play around with the spiritual world. Not even to force Kimball to talk.”

  “Hear me out,” Eliza said. “Please. There’s no way Taylor Junior is obeying a heavenly messenger. The Lord would never order a man to kill innocent women and children.”

  Krantz snorted. “Really? Even I know the Bible well enough to know better. What about the plagues of Egypt? The Flood? Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “Come on, Steve,” Eliza said. “You’re telling me God ordered Taylor Junior to steal chemical warheads and murder innocent people?”

  “Hell no. But that doesn’t mean Taylor Junior doesn’t believe it. That’s the way these cult guys think. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that most of them believe exactly what they say.”

  “Exactly,” Eliza said. “And his father believes it too, or he wouldn’t have gone along with the plan. So Elder Kimball believes in the angel. We don’t. We can use that against him.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Miriam said. “Doesn’t have to be an angel, but what about an evil spirit? You don’t mess around with that.”

  But Eliza had been thinking about that too. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s an evil spirit. So what? Jacob has the priesthood. He’s a prophet. He can call on the Lord and rebuke a spirit.”

  Jacob shifted in his seat and dropped his eyes to his lap. Miriam looked at him for a moment, then nodded and turned back to Eliza. “That doesn’t mean he’s invulnerable. Put yourself in the wrong situation, and anyone can be at risk. Don’t call up an evil spirit. Just don’t.”

  “I’m not talking about an actual spirit,” she said.

  “Spit it out,” Krantz said. “Then what?”

  “You pull strings with the FBI and get us access to Elder Kimball.”

  “Pull strings? They fired me, remember? I’ve got less pull than a wet noodle.”

  She put a hand on his knee. “You can do it. Fayer still trusts you. You said they tried all sorts of stuff to get Kimball to talk. They’ve already bent the rules. If we promise to get Taylor Junior, wouldn’t Fayer help?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Kimball won’t know we’re there. They’ll move him to a new cell or something, that’s all he’ll know. Kimball believes in the angel, maybe he still sees it. Maybe he’s waiting for it to come back and tell him what to do. We’ll get there ahead of time, slip him drugs or something—”

  “Are you hearing yourself?” Jacob broke in. “Slip him drugs?”

  “I’m making stuff up now, okay? Nothing that would do lasting harm, just enough to nudge him in the direction he’s already inclined to go. We’ll need to hash out the details. But remember what they found in the temple when they murdered my brother Enoch? The wine and the spe
aker thing and how Gideon would make them all fast.”

  She was talking too quickly now, but she’d grown excited by her plan and could tell by the intense concentration on the faces of Krantz and Miriam that they were excited as well. She could tell that Jacob was intrigued too, in spite of his misgivings.

  Eliza said, “Don’t you see? The angel will appear and demand answers. Kimball will have no choice. He’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Agent Fayer looked up from her computer with a scowl. She watched Jacob get dressed. “This is worse than pointless. It’s sacrilegious. I thought you fundies took your covenants seriously.”

  Jacob ignored her and tied off the white robe, then tied the black apron around his waist. He couldn’t decide whether he should take off his shirt and go bare-chested or not. He wished they had let Eliza come. He could use her advice. And maybe she could explain again why this was a good idea.

  Krantz turned from the one-way mirror, where he’d been studying Elder Kimball. “It’s a robe and an apron. How is that blasphemy?”

  “Ask him,” Fayer said. She sat at the computer, fiddling with the recording equipment. “Unless the polygamist endowment is totally different, he’s violating his covenants.”

  “We promise not to reveal certain things from the temple,” Jacob said. “Some people get carried away and won’t talk about anything that happens.”

  “So you’re more liberal than Fayer?” Krantz raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “More cynical, you mean,” she said. “I can’t believe those people think you’re some kind of prophet.”

  “What’s with the apron thingy, anyway?” Krantz asked. “Is that something you can talk about?”

  “The endowment is half ritual—the part you can’t talk about—and half story,” Jacob said. “In one part Satan appears wearing a black apron. It represents his priesthood.”

  “Satan is a priest? I don’t get it.”

  “Go with it, Krantz,” Fayer said. “Don’t make Jacob talk about sacred things outside the temple.”

  Krantz sighed. “I’ve been in Blister Creek a year, and I still don’t understand. Never mind.” He gestured at the one-way mirror. “Kimball is down. Hope we didn’t hit him too hard with the drugs. Last thing we need is him passing out.”

  Fayer persisted. “So do you think you’re a prophet?”

  “Not really,” Jacob said. “But if I fake it, nobody can tell the difference.”

  “Damned by his own testimony.”

  “Aw, leave him alone,” Krantz said. “He’s not like those other guys. Jacob, go do your prophet thing.”

  Agent Fayer picked up the phone at the desk. “He’s ready.” She pulled her chair up to the window that looked in on Kimball’s room. She straddled the chair backward and propped her arms on the backrest. “If this works, I’ll eat my badge.”

  Elder Kimball lay on his back in his orange jumpsuit. He fisted his eyes and then looked up at the ceiling lights. The mixture of psilocybin mushrooms and PCP would be hitting his system with its full force now. Jacob had seen this mixture before in the ER, its users paranoid and suffering auditory and visual hallucinations.

  The prison guard stepped into the room. He eyed the robe and apron but made no comment. “Mr. Christianson?”

  Jacob nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “Watch yourself in there,” Fayer said.

  He blinked, a little surprised at the sudden concern in her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t call down anything you can’t control.”

  “No, no, I won’t.”

  He suddenly realized something about the LDS FBI agent. Fayer, for all her hostility, was not so different from Miriam. It wasn’t seeing the temple garments outside the temple that bothered her, it was the thought of impersonating a spirit. An evil spirit.

  Jacob entered on the far side of the room from the prisoner. The guard shut the door quietly, and it disappeared seamlessly into the wall. A stainless steel toilet without a lid sat in one corner and a single-piece cot in another. The carpet, a tight Berber with swirls of mauve and teal, extended from the floor up the walls on three sides. The fourth wall was mirrored glass.

  In the mirror Jacob caught a glimpse of himself, with his robe and bare feet. He looked like a beardless version of his father—the hard set of his jaw, the piercing eyes. A man of courage and conviction. If not an angel, then a prophet of God. He looked away, uncomfortable.

  Elder Kimball lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a glazed expression. He hadn’t yet looked at Jacob. The man had lost weight. His cheeks were gaunt, his once-prominent jowls nothing but hanging skin. And Kimball was old. It had been ten months since the trial, but the man had aged ten years. His eyes drooped and his mouth turned down. His breath came out in a whistle through his nose.

  Jacob wanted to despise the man. He should be consumed with hatred, should want to strangle Kimball and gouge out his eyeballs. The guards would be on him in an instant, but not in time. Jacob could raise his heel and stomp with all his strength. He’d crush the man’s larynx. It would be revenge and righteous justice in one swift move.

  This man killed my father. His son murdered my brother in the temple. My wife is paralyzed because of Kimball. Why is he still alive?

  But Jacob couldn’t raise the necessary fury. What was wrong with him? What kind of bloodless creature was he?

  He mostly felt pity. This man was Daniel and Leah’s biological father, had once claimed Fernie as his wife. He’d lost his children, his wives, his position in the church, his community. Even his senior wife, Charity, had finally deserted him. Was that his own fault, a fitting end to man consumed with the vainglorious acquisition of women, children, and property? Probably. And yet…Jacob didn’t want to be the one to deliver the final blow.

  “Taylor Kimball!” Jacob bellowed. As he spoke, a light flared from high on the wall. It blasted in Kimball’s eyes. The other lights dimmed.

  Kimball sat bolt upright, eyes bulging in terror and his mouth agape. He shielded his eyes against the light. “Who is that, who are you?”

  “Today is the day of thy destruction. The day to meet thy maker.”

  “No! I’m not ready.”

  “Murderer. Apostate. Blasphemer.”

  “I didn’t, I won’t.”

  “Why didst thou abandon thy son? He is waiting in the wilderness. He needs thy help to fulfill the will of the Lord.”

  Confusion spread over Kimball’s face. “They took me, they put me here. How can I do anything?”

  “Does that matter? Can prison walls stand before the might of the Lord? Command them to fall, in His name. Do it, Kimball.”

  “But I did pray. You said—”

  “Silence! Do not tempt the Lord thy God. Pray with faith, not doubt.”

  The words came too easily to Jacob’s tongue. It was like a blessing—he knew what would work, what would move this man. So far, Eliza’s plan was genius.

  “Quickly, now,” Jacob said. “Tonight, pray until the walls collapse. And then what?”

  “Then what?”

  “What wilst thou do? When the Lord frees thee, what then?”

  “I’ll find my son. He’s waiting.”

  “The enemy will follow. They will hunt thee. Where wilst thou go? How wilst thou hide from the enemy?”

  “Through Dark Canyon. I’ll bypass the first sanctuary. They’ll be looking there, they’ll expect someone to return. But I won’t stop. They’ll never find me.”

  Jacob’s heart was pounding. Could it be this easy? Simply lead Kimball, stoned on psilocybin, PCP, and insanity, to talk out his own plan? Fayer and Krantz would be out of their chairs, faces pressed to the glass. Here was the confession. Bargaining had failed. Threats. Coercion. Jacob imagined they had kept Kimball awake, grilled him around the clock with one interrogator after another. But the man never cracked. Until now.

  How much time did he have? Hard to say, but perhaps not long. The drug mixture
was the perfect hallucinogen to get Kimball in the proper frame of mind, but the mushroom component would wear off unpredictably. Worse, the body acclimated quickly. If they came back tomorrow, the mushrooms might last half as long. The third day, maybe nothing. He had to get information now.

  Jacob let impatience rise in his voice. “Of course. That is the simple part. But with the enemy hunting thee, how to find this second sanctuary?”

  Kimball was trembling now. “Across the plains. I can’t come in from the road. It’s too dangerous. They’ll look for me there. I have to do it.”

  “Cross the plains,” Jacob agreed. “But how is it to be done? Think carefully. The enemy gives pursuit.”

  “Brave the bones. They said it’s not dangerous, not anymore. It can’t kill you.”

  What bones? Where? What road are you talking about?

  “Speak plainly. Get it out, the exact details. They are pursuing you. If you’re vague, if you’re careless in your plans, they will find you.”

  It was too much. He knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. And he’d dropped the biblical pronoun, said “you” instead of “thou.” A momentary slip, but Kimball cocked his head, and Jacob knew he’d picked up something.

  “Taylor Kimball!” Jacob roared. “On thy knees and beg forgiveness. The Lord has offered thee one last chance.”

  “Who are you?” Kimball asked before Jacob could finish. “Are you flying? Can you walk through walls? What is…what did you say?” He held out his hand. “Won’t you shake?”

  Jacob recoiled. “Do not tempt the Lord thy God.”

  “That’s not what you said last time.” The edge sharpened in his voice. He glanced at the mirror, rubbed his eyes again, and then turned back to Jacob. “Who are you, what is this? You’re not an angel, at all, are you? Who sent you to torment me? I shall not be tempted by the devil—never again.”

  It was getting too weird. Jacob turned, ready to call it off.

  Without warning, Kimball lowered his head and rushed at Jacob.

  Jacob didn’t have time to react. Kimball rammed his head into his solar plexus, and the two men sprawled to the ground. The older man got on top and pummeled him with his fists.