dead already? Would they kill Alred and anyone who knew anything about the codex to cover all their footprints? Would they carry their covert works on to other members of the church? Leaders of the LDS faith?
First things first. If anyone would die, it would be John D. Porter. After a long pause, Porter finally said, “What about me?”
Squinting his colorless eyes, the old man at the end studied Porter…for a long time…before deciding.
CHAPTER THIRTY
7:16 p. m PST
“You have a nice day now,” said Bruno as Alred and Porter left the cafe. Porter felt the gaze of the boxer with ancient wisdom in his eyes. He smiled and waved.
Outside, the sun touched the horizon, lighting the world with a blaze of electroplated gold.
Alred frowned.
“You’ve done well, Mr. Porter,” said an old voice.
Porter looked behind him as the man with the British walk stopped. It was Joseph Smith, leaning on his cane as the jasmine-scented wind tugged at the bottom of his gray overcoat.
“You stayed alive.”
“No thanks to you,” said Porter, pushing a hand through his brown hair. He held his suit coat at his side in a tightening fist.
The gentleman smiled. “Actually, all thanks goes to me, but I require none. I told you. I have my own reasons for messing up their little game.”
Alred looked at the man in silence. Porter had explained everything from the beginning, so she knew this had to be the Joseph Smith Porter had described. Porter glanced at her, squinting with curious eyes at the gold-lit man east of where they stood.
“I still don’t understand anything about you,” said Porter. “I want answers.”
Smith smiled and blinked slowly. “Some things are best left unknown. You lost the codex, but some ancient documents aren’t meant to be in the hands of scholars. Those belong in the possession of prophets who don’t need them for proof of their religion…but use them for spiritual profit and learning. Sometimes the only way to keep something is to lose it.”
“Your message,” said Porter, referring to the scriptural note in the courtroom.
“Congratulations on your doctoral dissertations.” He looked at the two students as the evening wind cooled between them. The old man’s grin faded, but Porter could not discern why. Smith turned as if he still had much to do and walked down the sidewalk to nowhere.
“Why did they let you go?” said Alred, watching the old man in the long coat. Three twelve-year old boys shot out of an alley in front of Smith and disappeared across the street.
Porter shrugged. “I can’t track them down. I’d be killed the moment I got close.” He put his cold fingertips into the pockets of his slacks. He licked his lips. “In ancient times, a community just to the west of the Dead Sea in Israel believed we were all…living ‘through the dominion of Belial.’”
“Who?” said Alred. Porter looked at her through tight eyes. The sun blazed a bright yellow and orange behind her and yet many thousands of miles away. The sky was a swirl of pink, florescent purple, glowing gold, and low clouds valiantly holding their shimmering whites.
The cool wind blew right into Alred’s face, holding back her red hair, but she kept her green eyes opened. The air was sweet.
“Our time will come, Alred. But right now…we are meant to have trials,” said Porter.
“You never stop, do you.” Alred shook her head and grinned. “I guess I’ll miss that someday.” She turned into the sun and started walking, looking back. “Good-bye, Porter.”
Porter stood with his right hand in his pocket, a sinking sadness in his throat as she left him at last.
Alred whipped around suddenly, but her feet kept moving. “Wait a minute. You never told me your middle name.”
Porter glowed. “D,” he said with a wide grin. Then he moseyed away.
