The Lincoln Myth by Steve Berry Page A

say?”
    He savored the cod he’d ordered and Cassiopeia seemed to like the Baltic shrimp that filled her plate. He noticed that she hadn’t ordered wine, preferring mineral water. Besides the clear religious prohibition, he’d always believed that alcohol made people say and do things they later regretted, so he’d never acquired the taste.
    She looked terrific.
    Her dark hair, twisted into curls, draped just below her shoulders and framed the same thin brows, brooding cheeks, and blunt nose he remembered. Her swarthy skin remained as smooth and unblemished as a bar of tan soap, her round neck sculpted like a column. The sensuality she projected was so calm and controlled, it might have been choreographed.
    A true beauty from heaven.
    “Love is that constant, never-failing quality that has the power to lift us above evil. It is the essence of the gospel. It is the security of the home. It is the safeguard of community life. It is a beacon of hope in a world of distress.”
    That he knew.
    He liked that the angel kept watch over him.
    Never failing. Always right.
    “What are you thinking?” Cassiopeia asked.
    She drew his attention like a magnet.
    “Just that it is truly wonderful to be back with you, if only for these few days.”
    “Does it have to be limited to that?”
    “Not at all. But I recall our last conversation from years ago, when you made clear how you felt about our faith. You have to know, nothing has changed for me.”
    “But as I said earlier, things have changed … for me.”
    He waited for her to explain.
    “Recently, I did something I never did as a young girl.” She stared into his eyes. “I read the Book of Mormon. Every word. When I was done I realized that everything there was absolutely true.”
    He stopped eating and listened.
    “I then realized that my current lifestyle was not worthy of my birthright. I was born and baptized Mormon, but I’ve never been one. My father led one of the first stakes in Spain. Both my mother and father were devout believers. While they were alive, I was a good daughter and did as my parents asked.”
    She paused.
    “But I never really believed. So my realizations at reading it now were totally unexpected. Some unseen person kept whispering in my ear that what I was reading was true. Tears poured down my cheeks, as I finally recognized the gift of the Holy Ghost that I first received as a child.”
    He’d heard similar stories from converts all across Europe. His own Spanish stake comprised nearly five thousand Saints scattered across twelve wards. As a member of the First Quorum of Seventy he oversaw stakes across the Continent. Every day new converts joined with the joy he now saw on Cassiopeia’s face.
    Which was wonderful.
    If it had been there eleven years ago, they would have surely been married. But perhaps heaven was offering them another chance?
    “I was struck by the truthfulness of what I read,” she said. “I was convinced. I knew that the Holy Ghost had confirmed the truth of every page.”
    “I recall my first time,” he said. “I was fifteen years old. My father read with me. I came to believe that Joseph Smith did see God and His Son in a vision, and was told to join no other religion. Instead, he was to restore the true church once again. That testimony has served me well over the years. It keeps me focused, willing to dedicate myself, with all my heart, to what has to be done.”
    “I was foolish not to admire that,” she said, “all those years ago. I’ve wanted to tell you this. That’s why I’m here, Josepe.”
    He was so pleased.
    They ate in silence for a few moments. His nerves were alive, both from what had happened earlier and with what was happening now. He’d tried to call Elder Rowan and report what he’d learned from the captured agent, but had not been able to connect with him.
    His phone vibrated in his pocket.
    Normally he’d ignore it, but he was waiting for a return call from Utah and a report from