"Mine," Winn said. "I promise you."

After a few more miles, Winn pulled up in front of Claude's house and they both walked up to the door. Deem knocked, and a dog started barking in the distance. Within seconds they heard it slam against the other side of the door.

"That dog is something else," Deem said.

"I don't blame him for keeping it," Winn said. "I imagine he's got a few enemies."

The door opened and Claude smiled at them, pulling at the dog's collar.

"Come in!" he said cheerily. "I'll just put Kimo in the back. Please seat yourselves."

"You could leave him out to visit, if you want," Deem offered, trying to be accommodating.

"Oh no, my dear," Claude said, wrestling the dog into the back. "You'd lose a hand."

Claude disappeared with the dog and returned empty handed after a few minutes. Deem and Winn were sitting in his living room, the stacks of papers and magazines rising higher than their heads.

"So, you're back!" Claude said. He seemed genuinely happy to see them again.

"I am!" Deem said, smiling. "I was thinking about what you had said, like you said I would, and I felt I needed to talk to you again."

"You want to know more about the secret council," Claude said. "So you can get your father's journals back. Right?"

"It's that obvious?" Deem asked.

"It's what I'd do," Claude said. "Then again, I was never very risk averse. Not always wise."

"I have no idea how to go about it," Deem said. "But I want to try."

"I love when someone puts their money where their mouth is," Claude said. "Of course I'll help you. I'll tell you what I know."

"Do you know who is on the secret council?" Deem said.

"No," Claude replied, "that's one of their big secrets. They take an oath to never reveal that. But I do have some educated guesses. I thought your father was on it, and now I'm sure of that. It's a good bet Brother Dayton is on it. Don't know about the new Stake President, though."

"Do you know how many are on it?" Deem asked.

"Well, it can't be many," Claude said. "Remember, it's only gifteds who are in high-level positions in the church. The local council probably encompa.s.ses everyone in southern Utah and Nevada, probably northern Arizona, too, and I'd be surprised if there's more than a half dozen men on it. There's another council up north, in Salt Lake. I know there's at least one General Authority on that one."

"Is the Salt Lake council in charge?" Deem asked, "of all the local councils?"

"No," Claude said. "It's not like the church, with Salt Lake always running things. The local councils don't take orders from anywhere else."

"Why are they organized like this?" Winn asked. "What do they do?"

"I think some of it is camaraderie and being part of a club," Claude said. "People like to be together with others who are like themselves. That's why you two work together, is it not?"

Deem nodded.

"I think some of them probably get off on the power of it, the secrecy," Claude continued. "But as for what they do exactly, what they accomplish as a group, I don't know. More secrets. There are rumors."

"Such as?" Winn asked.

"I've heard some say they control the Danites," Claude said.

"Danites?" Deem asked. "What is that?"

"A secret group that does the dirty work of the church," Winn said. "You haven't heard about them?"

"No, and it sounds like bulls.h.i.t," Deem said. "Sorry for swearing."

"Oh, we've crossed another line, have we?" Claude chuckled. "Danites were very active in the late nineteenth century, when the church was still threatened by the United States government. The modern day Danites are the lobbying companies the church employs far more effective than the Danites of old, and a lot less b.l.o.o.d.y. But I think it's just a rumor I don't think the secret councils are involved with them. The Danites always took orders straight from the church in Salt Lake. The secret councils operate independently. There might be some crossover, but if there is, I think it's small."

"Then what?" Winn said.

"Like I said, rumors," Claude said. "Some think they were behind the Mountain Meadows Ma.s.sacre. Some think they secretly fight against the fundamentalist polygamists. I once heard that they keep alive the folk magic traditions of Joseph Smith. Who knows? It might all be bullpucky. They might be up to something else altogether."

"If they have my father's journals," Deem said, "then they must have other people's journals, too. They must keep them somewhere."

"That they do," Claude said. "And your next question is, 'where'? Right?"

"Well?" Deem asked.

"No idea," Claude said. "That's another of their most tightly guarded secrets."

"If they're a council," Deem said, "then they must meet. Sometime."

"Yes," Claude said. "They do, occasionally."

"We could follow one of them," Deem said. "Dayton. See where he goes."

"If you could pull it off," Claude said, "that would give you the 'where,' but you'd have to monitor him continually to know the 'when.' That's going to get tiring."

"It's a start, at least," Deem said. "If we can find their meeting place, that might be where the journals are kept."

"You'll need to be smart about this," Claude said. "They're high-up in the church, which means they're shrewd. And they're gifted, which means they can employ some intimidating defenses against people like you. You need to be careful."

"I'm not afraid of them," Deem said. "Besides, what's the worst they could do, if they found me out?"

"Well," Claude said, "Danites used to cut their victim's throats from ear to ear."

"Brother Dayton wouldn't do that," Deem said. "I've known him since I was a little kid."

"What you don't know," Claude said, "is what oaths he's taken to protect their council. He'll treat those oaths seriously. You need to tread lightly."

"Any ideas on the 'when'?" Deem asked.

"It'll be something routine," Claude said, "so they don't have to communicate with each other about it between meetings. But what that routine is, I have no idea."

Deem thought about this. She remembered seeing something recently that fit in with what Claude was saying, but she couldn't remember what. Then, it came to her: she'd seen an old day planner when she was going through boxes two days ago.

"My father's schedule book," Deem said. "I saw it. It might have something."

"Maybe," Claude said. "It won't be obvious."

"I'll hunt through it," Deem said. "Anything else you can tell me about the secret council?"

"Just that I think you need to be a lot more cautious than I currently sense you to be," Claude said. "I get the feeling you think you can barrel into this and be successful. One of the council's goals will most certainly be to protect itself, and you're threatening that."

"If my father's journals are there," Deem said, "I'm going to get them. You can be sure of that."

"I admire your determination," Claude said. "But listen to me. I've been at this for a long time. I've seen some horrific things from people who claim to be upright Christians. The people who kick against the p.r.i.c.ks are targeted. I've seen them get their throats slit, left as a warning for others or they disappear, buried somewhere out in the desert never to be found. And if you're too high profile to just kill outright, they get to you in other ways. Destroy your job, your reputation, your family. Things that are important to you. I know you said Brother Dayton would never do anything like this, but I'm telling you he would. They're ruthless and effective, and you'll never be able to prove they did it. And if you try, you'll be considered crazy. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yes," Deem said. "I do."

"I want to show you something," Claude said. "Wait here."

Claude rose from his chair and walked into another room. He returned with a manila folder, which he handed to Deem. She opened it, then quickly closed it.

"Look at it," Claude said.

"I saw it," Deem said, handing the folder back.

"No, you didn't," Claude said. "There's some details I want you to notice."

"It's disgusting," Deem said. "If you're trying to gross me out to scare me, consider me grossed out."

"Deem," Claude said softly, "it's a picture of my father."

Deem dropped her head, embarra.s.sed. "I'm, sorry," she said. She reopened the folder.

It contained a single 8x10 black and white photo. It was a picture of a barbed wire fence in a pasture. A man had been tied to the fence with wire at his feet, waist, and neck, his hands bound behind his body. His throat had been cut, and the blood had run down his chest, making the shirt he wore dark. The body had been left for some time before the picture was taken, and birds had removed the eyes.

"Found April 6, 1957, about a mile outside of Silver Reef," Claude said. "Back then, Silver Reef truly was a ghost town. No new houses, like now. Just old, abandoned buildings from the mining days. So they didn't discover the body for a while after he'd been murdered."

"I'm sorry," Deem said again. "How old were you?"

"Twelve," Claude said. "Do you want to know why this happened to him?"

"Why?" Deem asked.

"Because he told me he was on a secret council," Claude said, "and I told my friend Gale Stucki. My father had sworn me to secrecy, but I just couldn't keep it to myself. Gale told others, word got around, and this is what they did to him, as payback for violating his oath."

"So he really was on a secret council, like my father?" Deem asked.

"I believe so," Claude said. "And I believe his gift was inherited by my brother, Duane, who is now dead. The moment my father's death was discovered, the church stepped in and helped my mother keep things going. At the time I was so grateful for that. Later I learned how things really worked, and I realized that many of those same people who were offering help were the ones who had killed him. I guess that's why I do what I do. All of this," he said, waving his arms around him.

"Did you ever find his killers?" Deem asked. "Bring them to justice?"

"No," Claude said. "Which is why I'm telling you this. I would love to see these secret councils brought down. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I've shown you this," he nodded to the folder Deem was holding, now closed, "because you need to know what you're dealing with. I've been fighting the good fight for fifty years now, but I've never located anything that would implicate anyone in my father's death, and that's because they're careful and ruthless. You'll have to be more careful and ruthless if you want to interact with them and stay alive."

"Have you talked about the councils on your radio program?" Deem asked.

"Never," Claude said. "I talk about all kinds of other things, but I've never brought up the councils. Hits too close to home."

"I understand why you have the dog," Deem said. "You must have lived in fear for your life, doing what you're doing."

"I used to," Claude said. "I got alarm systems, cameras, you name it. Kimo, of course. And a ton of guns. But once they succeeded in marginalizing me, making me look crazy, I think they decided I was better off alive. They use me as an example. 'If you think the way Crazy Claude thinks, you're crazy too.' Works well for them. I can say most anything I want to say, and they just write it off."

"Well, we believe you," Winn said. "My mom used to listen to you. She had tapes."

"Oh yes, tapes!" Claude said. "People used to record my show and give tapes to their friends. I think more people have heard me on tape than have ever heard me on shortwave."

"I have a friend," Winn said, "who could help you get your program on the internet, if you're having trouble with that. You'd have a podcast going in no time."

"Really?" Claude asked. "Well, that's nice of you to offer. Would he do it for free? I don't have any money for that kind of thing."

"Maybe," Winn said. "I'll talk to him. I think once he finds out what your show is about, he'll want to do it."

"Send him here," Claude said, "and make sure he mentions you, so I don't shoot him on the doorstep." He smiled.

"Thanks for your time," Deem said, handing the folder back to Claude. "And for being so open."

"Do you promise me you'll be careful?" he asked Deem, taking the folder.

"I do," she said. "Your point has. .h.i.t home."

"Good," Claude said. "I don't want to have a picture like this of you in my files."

Winn stopped at a 7-11 on Bluff Street in St. George so Deem could get another Big Gulp, then he drove her back to Mesquite, dropping her off at her house. Deem said she'd be at Winn's place by seven a.m. the next morning for their drive to Indian Springs to meet Awan.

Deem walked inside the house and sat down on the large white couch in the living room, sipping her Big Gulp. Claude had shared a lot with her, and she felt the need to sort it all out. I've got to find that day planner, she thought, looking around the room absently. I know I saw it.

She saw a piece of duct tape that was still sticking to the fireplace bricks from the makeshift cover she removed earlier that morning. She rose from the couch and removed the tape. She looked up, and saw the family picture that had hung over the fireplace for the past several years. Her father and mother were in the back of the picture, with her brothers in front of them, and Deem sitting alone in front of the brothers. She was fifteen in the picture, and had braces. This was the last family portrait before Dad died, she thought. He looks so tall and handsome. And he always had a wise face, like he knew how to solve any problem. That's why so many people trusted him. That's why he became Stake President.

She looked closely at her father in the picture, his torso rising behind his sons, his right arm wrapped around Deem's mother.

And you had secrets, too, didn't you, Dad? Secrets you couldn't tell me. You trained me. None of my brothers inherited your gift, just me. Did you want to tell me about the council, but couldn't because I was a girl? Was I not old enough to know? Did you know about Claude's father? Does the council keep a history?

She studied the lines in his face, his hair, his eyes. He'd always seemed so open to her, ready to share anything she asked. Why keep this from me? she wondered. You always answered every question I had. You never held back. Why this? Why did you hide this side of you from me? Did you take an oath? Did you have a hand in killing people to keep your council secret? Her father's face stared back at her, silent. Silent as the grave.

She turned from the photo, wiping a tear from her cheek, fearing the answers that were dawning to her questions. I'm going to find that G.o.dd.a.m.n day planner.

Deem spread out the materials she'd found, covering her bed. She locked the door to her room so her mother wouldn't barge in unannounced and discover what she was doing. She sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by papers and books.