found in the Bible. Parallel stories. I could bring to your attention the Annals of the Cakchiquels translated for the first time into French in 1855 and into English in 1885, or the Title of the Lords of Totonicapan translated into Spanish in 1834 and then English in 1953. Shall I refer you to the painted walls of Bonampak in Chiapas, Mexico, which by the way made it onto the cover of National Geographic a few years back? Wasn’t brought to white man’s attention until the middle of this century. All of these relate detailed Book of Mormon stories.
“The Book of Mormon, which first came to light through Joseph Smith in 1830!
“The KM codices found by Dr. Ulman coincide with these finds and more particularly with the Book of Mormon.
“Think, now. No one wants these things to reach the ears and eyes of the citizens of the world. Can you imagine what would happen if irrefutable proof came clearly pointing out that the Mormons have been professing a religion which is in fact the true faith of God, taught for more than a hundred and fifty years all over the Earth?!? Are you ready to change your lives in the case that occurs?! Can’t you see why people have conspired to cover up the assignment I received from Stratford University-including the University itself?
“They made a serious mistake in giving me the codex in the first place. And all I’ve done is what I was told by them to do. The truth is there. I don’t need to prove it. But…I did not steal…KM-2, nor the ushabti figurines which were placed in my car.”
Alred looked at Porter as if she’d been hit with a blast of cold air. In a short moment of silence, as Porter took a breath, she saw him buckle slightly under the pressure of all the eyes on him. Why had no one told him to sit down? Why hadn’t the bailiffs grabbed him or someone gagged him? No one spoke with such clear words in a court, for what he said would affect everyone in the room.
Porter’s tone lowered and his voice slowed, but he remained on his feet. “As a judge, you know that lack of evidence is not proof. Those who cover up the facts in order to say they aren’t there don’t understand this. You’ve heard this case. I gain nothing by possessing Ulman’s artifacts if they are illegal. Does it further my education? Will the theft make my church seem more authentic in some way? If the finds are illegally held, the ecclesiastical authorities of my faith could never bring them forth as artifacts proving the truths I’ve explained because to do so would be to the detriment of the church.
“It is up to you to decide my motives for committing the crime the prosecutor suggests. All I know is, I won’t get a degree after doing the work assigned. Because KM-2 is gone, I have only my notes and my word as proof now. And that’s as good as fiction in the religious community of scholars.”
The air was spiced with Porter’s sweat, and Alred thought she smelled it cooking on the hot lights hidden in the ceiling. She lowered her head, shocked at the audacity of the preceding comments.
Surely everyone felt the pressure, the questions unasked, the weight of one man’s religion different from the world’s smashing like a flood of rainwater over the wall of a dam.
The judge removed his glasses as Porter slowly sat down. “John Porter…I am not prejudiced against you or your church. Do you understand me. You will not stand up and speak in that manner again in my courtroom.”
Porter nodded humbly.
Comer went to his assistant and whispered something which the younger fellow quickly scribbled. It could have been nothing; an attempt by the Prosecutor to look as if he had the case in his pocket.
“No more speaches are to be made. I want these questions settled fairly and succinctly. Mr. Prosecutor,” said the judge, focusing his spectacles with his fingertips, “your compound questioning will not continue in my presence. I’ve put up with you long enough and expect you to give time to each witness before proceeding with further inquiries, are my words simple enough for you?”
Alred’s eyes floated onto an old man approaching the barrier behind Porter’s chair. Dressed in fine tweed, he smiled and handed a small envelope to Porter’s attorney, which Sowerby opened. As the gentleman proceeded out of the courtroom, the defense lawyer withdrew a small sheet of paper, which he read and handed to Porter.
Comer started casually back for the witness stand and the judge.
Porter read the note. The color in his face turned to sleet, and his eyes focused on something beyond the courtroom walls. Then with tombstones in his gaze, Porter looked right at Alred and never removed his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY — NINE
John Sowerby considered himself to be a good attorney, but couldn’t shake the feeling his client was lying to him. Porter so often ran away from direct questions, he looked guilty to everyone. But even Sowerby could say nothing after Porter’s bold spiel. He hadn’t dared to yank his client back into his seat-not that the poor student was paying for his services, but Porter had his own agenda and was intent on keeping his attorney in the dark. Whatever.
The words in the note had no meaning to John Sowerby. Porter looked down at the paper again, as Alred stood to leave the stand. Sowerby ran the words through his mind. What was it, a psalm from the Bible? He’d never gone to any form of Sunday school, but had really enjoyed the Bhagavad-Gita in junior college. Mr. Porter, “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life…shall find it” (Matthew 11:39). Your only friend, -J. Smith.
Judge Panofsky spoke without looking up. “We will take a one hour recess, after which time, gentlemen, I hope you will prepare your final arguments.” The gavel came down with one crack and everyone stood to depart.
When Alred, studying the ground, came within earshot of Porter, the student called her over with a clearing of his throat.
Sowerby packed his briefcase as if he hadn’t noticed.
Before she could comment on anything said so far in the courthouse, Porter grabbed her by the elbow and drew her close.
He whispered into her ear.
Alred immediately pulled away as though she’d just been propositioned. She stared at Porter as if he’d already been shipped to the crazy house. Porter pulled her again and whispered into her left ear for a longer time.
Sowerby felt someone brush up behind him and stay. He turned to see a large African-American with hard eyes looking down at him. The man wore a dark gray suit and a green paisley tie which looked slightly out of date, and he held a file folder in his left hand against his chest.
“Who is that,” said Alred behind Sowerby. There was just enough seriousness in her voice to tell Sowerby that at least she cared about who was talking with Porter’s lawyer.
“Batman.” Porter spoke with the same gravity. “I hope.”
“Stan Clusser, FBI,” said the agent, raising his identification with his right hand. He gave Sowerby the folder without looking at his old missionary companion. “Call me to the stand and ask me these questions after the recess. Take the steps you need to reach this goal.”
“I’ll have to look them over first and meet with the Prosecuting Attorney,” said Sowerby, fighting to keep a hand on some semblance of dignity.
“You do whatever is necessary,” said Clusser. “Memorize the file.”
One eye shot to Porter and Alred, and the agent pushed into the small crowd behind him.
Sowerby huffed in indignation, then looked at his client.
Porter raised his eyebrows while tilting his mellow face downward. “I trust that man more than I trust you,” he said to Sowerby.
“Well…you’ve gotta have someone on your side.” Sowerby let his smile show the sarcastic bitterness.
Alred walked away shaking her head at both of them.
Staring at the empty judge’s seat, as Sowerby packed his black briefcase, Porter said, “You have a piece of paper?”
Sowerby handed a sheet to him and watched his client sit and scrawl out the date: May 7, 1997.
“What’s that, a journal entry?”
Porter looked at his attorney with obvious anger in his eyes. “Yeah.”
Sowerby lifted a hand, finished gathering his things, and turned to chase after Mr. Comer. But as he did so,
