She knew her father sensed the rebellion when it began. He'd always been careful not to throw gasoline on the fire he'd never confronted Deem directly about her growing disinterest in the normal religious routines of the community. He'd always seemed supportive, regardless of how active Deem had been in the church. But Deem knew her father had played a role in excommunicating the Halworths. He was part of an organization that was the reason they were being treated like trash. She resented it. She thought it was cruel.

Then again, what she learned about the fundamentalists bothered her too, especially the forced underage marriages. She didn't have a problem with adults practicing their religion the way they wanted, and she didn't have a problem with people having more than one wife, if that's what they wanted. Live and let live. But she abhorred the idea of a fourteen year old girl being forced to marry a sixty year old man, just because some self-proclaimed "prophet" somewhere decreed it.

Which was worse? she wondered. My father's church, which would cruelly ostracize and shun an entire family, making their life h.e.l.l? Or a prophet who would marry off underage kids?

The latter, she thought. Definitely the latter. But it didn't make what her father had done any more palatable to her. She knew that if her father hadn't excommunicated the Halworths, higher-ups in Salt Lake would have forced the issue, so he had no choice.

That just means he was willing to do awful things in the name of religion, Deem thought. Am I sure I want these journals? I may not like what I find.

She suddenly felt incredibly sad as she watched the blue dot moving further into Nevada and turning south toward Caliente. Part of her wanted to give up and just abandon the whole attempt.

Then another part of her emerged, the part she knew well the rebellious part. No, she thought. No burying heads in the sand. No caving in to these religious nuts. I want the truth, whatever it is. My father's journals are mine, not theirs.

She focused down on the blue dot, pushing out all feeling of doubt and sadness. The dot was the goal, it was going to be dealt with. She was not one to start something and not finish it.

"You may be right," she said to Winn. "A secret council might be capable of anything."

Winn knew something was going on with Deem. He decided to let her comment sit, and they rode on in silence.

"How long has it been?" Winn asked.

Deem checked her watch. "Just over an hour and a half."

Winn adjusted himself and tried to stretch out in the driver's seat of his Jeep. They were parked half a block from an old, abandoned church in Caliente.

Earlier, they had followed Dayton to a side street where he'd parked his car and walked two blocks to the church. The others who had met him there had followed the same procedure there were no cars parked in front of or around the building. It still looked as silent and vacant as it had before Winn and Deem had seen half a dozen men enter the back of the church.

"Why way the f.u.c.k out here?" Winn asked, looking around.

"Based on what Claude indicated," Deem said, "I'm guessing the group is spread out. Caliente might be central for all of them."

Earlier, after they'd watched the men entering the building, Deem had asked Winn to drive around the streets surrounding the old church, two blocks in each direction. She'd taken pictures of every parked car, and noted license plate numbers. She had about twenty cars on her list. She knew some of them probably didn't belong to council members, but she figured a good number of them did.

"They're coming out," Winn said. "Well, at least one guy."

Deem raised her camera as discreetly as she could and began taking pictures. She was using the zoom, and because it was dark, she wasn't sure the pictures would turn out to be useful, but she took them anyway. The first man left the back exit of the church and walked away into the night. It was a couple of minutes before the next man emerged.

"They don't want to draw attention by leaving all at once," Winn said. "They've got this down."

After twenty minutes it appeared they'd all left; no more men came out of the building.

"Come on," Deem said, grabbing a small duffel bag. "We're going in."

Deem jumped out of the car and Winn followed her. They walked the half a block to the old church along a tree-lined street. There were no streetlights, and only the light coming from the moon made them able to see their way.

The old church was small and well over a hundred years old, built by Mormons in the early 20th century. Needs of the local congregations had long ago exceeded the capabilities of the tiny building, and it was replaced by modern brick structures in other parts of town. Deem was surprised this old church hadn't been torn down. Then it occurred to her that the church might have been serving the needs of the Mormon gifted for many generations. Although it appeared abandoned, it was still in use.

As they approached the back door, the security system sticker reflected the moonlight.

"That looks relatively new," Winn said, observing the warning not to enter.

"Hold on," Deem said, leaving Winn and circling around the side of the building. She searched the sky for wires, and soon found the box where the phone lines entered the building. She pulled wire snips from her bag and cut every wire that emerged from the junction box, then she returned to Winn.

"That's done," Deem said. She retrieved Winn's lock picking tools from the duffel and handed them to him. "You can pick it?"

Winn studied the lock. There were two, a deadbolt and a separate lock on the handle.

"No problem," he said, pulling the thin tools out of a sheath and inserting them into the keyholes. "Give me a minute."

Deem waited patiently while Winn worked. She looked around, hoping they'd avoid any cars or pa.s.sersby. The back of the church faced a row of short trees and shrubs that separated the property from the next street, which contained a couple of industrial structures. She could see why the council members used this entrance it was quiet and private.

"Yes!" Winn said as the door opened, and he let Deem take the lead. She pulled a flashlight from her duffel and entered the building. Winn followed and pulled the door closed behind him.

They were in a short hallway, with small rooms branching from each side. "Cla.s.srooms," Deem said, shining her light in each and quickly moving on. "For Sunday School."

After a bend in the hallway she came upon a locked door. "We'll come back to this," she said, continuing on.

After another turn, they emerged into the chapel. The pews were still in place, and a raised podium made of wood was still at the end of the room. Deem walked down the aisle, amazed that the elements of the chapel were still intact. She had expected that something this old might have been vandalized. When she reached the podium she walked up the dais and looked out over the small room. There were fifteen rows of pews, divided into a left and right side. There was nothing on the walls, but she didn't expect there to be Mormon churches were strictly utilitarian with no ornamentation.

"Do you think they met in here?" Winn asked.

"Probably," Deem said, searching around the podium for any signs of use. There were none.

"There's nothing here," Winn said. "Or back in those rooms."

"Except for that locked door," Deem said. She walked down from the dais and back through the pews. "Let's get it open."

Winn followed her back to the locked door and he knelt, examining the lock. "Alright," he said. "This should only take a second."

Winn had the door open quickly, and Deem stepped inside. It was a sizeable room. The walls were lined with open, free-standing metal shelves that contained cardboard boxes.

"Hmm," Deem said. "Remind you of anything?"

"Yeah," Winn said. "The skinrunner's room."

Deem pulled one of the boxes off the shelf. It was heavy. She opened the lid and looked inside. It was filled with green hanging file folders, each stuffed with multiple manila folders. She pulled one out and looked at it she recognized the church logo in the upper right corner. It was filled with handwriting. As she read it, she realized it was the notes from a church service long ago. She looked at the top right and saw a date: September 17, 1972.

"These are just old church records," Deem said. "Nothing as interesting as the skinrunner's."

She replaced the folders and put the box back on the shelf. They scanned the room. There didn't appear to be anything unusual or out of place, just a room full of boxes.

She examined the writings on the face of each box. They all seemed to be minutes from various church meetings.

"Do you think they kept minutes of their secret council?" Winn asked, joining Deem as she searched.

"Maybe," Deem said. "Mormons love to take notes. But these all appear to be minutes from old sacrament and priesthood meetings."

Winn could tell from Deem's tone that she was beginning to feel disappointed.

"Your dad's journals might be in here somewhere," Winn said. "These boxes might be mislabeled, might have been re-used."

Deem pulled another box at random. She inspected the doc.u.ments inside and compared them to the notes on the box. They were the same. Even the handwriting was the same, from box to box.

"d.a.m.n," she said. "I was really hoping they'd be here."

She tried a succession of boxes. Each time the papers inside were merely meeting minutes, syncing with the dates that had been noted on the exterior of the box. Winn a.s.sisted her, checking several boxes. When he replaced the box he had just checked, he noticed that the box met with resistance as he pushed it back. He a.s.sumed the box had hit the wall behind the shelving, but something didn't seem right. He removed the box and shined his flashlight into the empty s.p.a.ce.

"Deem," he said. "Come here."

Deem replaced the box she had been looking through and joined Winn.

"Look," he said.

"So?" she said, seeing nothing.

"The backing," Winn said. "This set of shelves has a back on it."

Deem looked inside again and saw the wood that lined the back of the shelves. She walked to the set of shelves to the left and pulled out a box. She shined her flashlight into the hole and saw the wall behind the shelves. "No backing on this one."

Winn did the same with the set of shelves on the right. "None here, either."

"So just this one set of shelves has it?" Deem asked. She pulled more boxes from the shelves, exposing more of the wooden backing. Once they'd removed all of the boxes, the backing was obvious.

"Help me," Winn said, grabbing the shelving on one side. Deem went to the other side and lifted. With the boxes removed, the shelving slid easily. They pulled the shelves back until they could easily get around it.

"Ha!" Winn said, seeing the door in the wall behind the shelves.

"It doesn't even have a handle," Deem said. "Just a lock."

"A handle would have kept the shelves from sitting flush against it," Winn said, bending over to examine the dead bolt lock. He removed his tools and began to pick it.

Within moments he had the door open, and they looked inside. It was a wooden stairwell leading down.

"A bas.e.m.e.nt!" Deem said. "Something tells me we've found it!"

She started down and was at the bottom of the stairs within moments, searching for a light switch. She found one, and a hanging fixture suspended in the middle of the room popped on. It was hanging directly over a large round table that had a dozen chairs around it.

"This is where they meet," Deem said, stepping off the stairwell landing and onto the floor of the bas.e.m.e.nt. Winn was right behind her.

She walked to the table and touched it. It was made of exquisite wood and inlaid with a fine pattern. It looked very old. She touched one of the chairs, letting her hand run over the headrest. It was leather. It was slightly worn. It, too, looked old.

"Deem," Winn said. "There's something down here. With us."

Deem dropped into the River immediately. She saw the figure looking up at her from a side table against the wall. It was a man, dressed in a suit and tie. The style of his clothes looked very old. He stared at Deem over a set of small gla.s.ses. As she watched, he placed a pen down on top of some papers at his table, and stood.

You're not supposed to be in here, he said.

Deem thought quickly. The man had been writing perhaps he was keeping minutes? Were all those writings upstairs his?

I'd report you to Brother Dayton right now, except I can tell you both have the gift, he said. He drifted closer to Deem without walking. He seemed to be examining her.

And I know you, don't I? he asked.

You probably knew my father, Deem said. President Hinton.

You're his daughter! the man said, circling her. How nice it is to meet you.

Likewise, Deem said. But I didn't get your name?

Brother Hester, he said, extending his hand. She shook it, feeling nothing. I'm the ward clerk for the third ward.

Well, you're doing an excellent job, Deem said. Your record keeping is exemplary. And well organized.

He beamed. There was no higher praise for a ward clerk, Deem knew.

Thank you, he said, continuing to drift around her. I'm supposed to report anyone coming in here to Brother Dayton, but you're President Hinton's daughter. So I suppose it's alright. And who's this? Hester said, drifting over to Winn. He's not righteous. He's a backslider.

Deem suppressed a smile. He's an investigator, Deem said, using the common Mormon term for someone who wasn't a member of the church but was trying to find out more about it, to see if they'd like to join. Mormons were always on their best behavior when an "investigator" was around, hoping to set a good example and not give the potential convert any reason to think negatively about the church.

Oh, that's wonderful, Brother Hester said, drifting back from Winn and facing him head on. I'm Brother Hester, he said, extending his hand. Winn reached out to shake it, unnerved by the lack of feeling when he attempted to grab it.

The third ward is a wonderful ward with outstanding members. I know you'll enjoy it, Hester said, trying to impress Winn.

Winn looked at Deem. He was completely fl.u.s.tered. He saw Deem mouth the words "go with it!"

I'm sure I will, Winn stammered.

Brother Hester smiled and drifted back to Deem. I have a great deal of respect for President Hinton, Hester said. A better leader the Lord couldn't have selected. Under his leadership attendance increased by sixteen percent!

Deem smiled. She knew her father had been well liked in the community, but she had no idea he'd been popular with the ghosts, too. She decided to try and use this to her advantage.

My father used to tell me about your good work, Deem said. He told me you were the best ward clerk he'd ever known.

Hester seemed shocked by Deem's words. Oh! he said. Did he, really?

Yes, Deem said, and he told me if I ever needed help, Brother Hester was the person to talk to.

He did? Hester asked. Me?

Yes, Deem said. She decided to pull out all of the stops. And I just knew he was full of the spirit of the Lord when he told me that. I felt it, right in here, she said, placing her hand over her heart, right out of Moroni.

Any remaining doubts Hester might have had about Deem's presence in the room seemed to vanish. He beamed at her with adoration.

And such a pretty daughter, too, Hester said. I imagine you'll be married soon. Perhaps to this young gentleman? Is that why he's investigating the church? So he can convert, and you two get a temple marriage?

Deem did her best to not spit up. She needed to keep Hester on her side for as long as possible.