of
irony.
At that moment, a
dark-haired girl of about thirteen or fourteen dressed in a blue and
gray school uniform, arrived from the kitchen carrying a silver tray
with a porcelain coffee set. Linder immediately identified her as
Kendall’s stepdaughter, Caroline. She set the tray on a low table
and began distributing cups of dark Arabic coffee and tumblers of
mineral water among the men without raising her eyes. It took all of
Linder’s self-control to tear his eyes away from the girl, for she
bore an unnerving resemblance to her mother, whom Linder had known at
approximately the same age.
Denniston had assured
him that Kendall’s family would not visit the apartment, and so
Linder was caught off guard. Kendall, too, seemed surprised to see
Caroline. As soon as she emptied the tray, he signaled for her to
leave it behind and return to the kitchen. Linder looked away from
the girl as she retreated and noticed Eaton watching him with
interest as he left the coffee untouched.
“Would you like
something other than coffee, Mr. Tanner?” Eaton offered.
Linder felt tiny beads
of perspiration forming under his eyes and on his forehead and
smelled the pungent odor of his own sweat. He returned Eaton’s gaze
and wondered if his host had noticed his surprised reaction at seeing
Caroline.
“No thank you,”
Linder replied.
“I’m still a bit
confused about your group’s objectives, Mr. Tanner,” Eaton
continued, leaning forward in the same manner as when he asked about
Rockwell and President Buchanan. “Is your primary goal to resettle
your fellow Mormons on their ancestral lands? Or is it to gain some
measure of autonomy for Utah? Or do you aim to oust the Unionist
dictatorship entirely?”
“I would have to say
all of the above,” Linder answered, recovering his balance. “Our
immediate goal is to gather our fellow Latter-day Saints wherever
they might be and bring them back to Utah. But, after having our
religion outlawed and over a million of our people forcibly relocated
to northern labor camps, we aim for autonomy on our territory until
Unionism is completely eradicated.”
“I see,” Eaton
replied in a flat voice. “And how do you believe Roger and I might
help you?” Linder sensed that Eaton’s interest might be flagging.
By now, the old man had heard pitches from nearly every rebel faction
alive. He had to make the MRM stand out as special, but how?
“Financially, for the
most part,” Linder answered while he racked his brain for a better
answer. “But we need help of all kinds, of course.”
“And you would use
the funds for…?” Eaton asked without looking up from his coffee.
“Relocation support
to smuggle our people back into the Utah Security Zone,
communications equipment, identity documents, training,” Linder
replied. “Whatever it takes to help our returnees make a new
start.”
Philip Eaton paused to
finish his coffee, then crossed his legs once more and settled back
into the sofa. Though Eaton looked relaxed, a sixth sense told Linder
that a curve ball was on its way.
“If you don’t mind,
please tell me more about what your people have experienced under the
Unionists. I understand that the regime cracked down hard on Utah
when your governor refused to commandeer LDS church emergency
supplies to benefit the California refugees who came to stay. I’d
like to hear your take on what happened then.”
Linder took a deep
breath and resettled himself in his chair. It was a curve ball, a
juicy one, and he was ready to clobber it.
“Never in history,”
Linder began, fixing his eyes on Eaton’s, “has any community
offered a more generous response to victims of a natural disaster
than the relief that Utahns and the LDS Church gave to the exodus of
California refugees flowing through our state. When federal relief
supplies ran out, Utahns and the LDS church kept on giving, often at
the expense of local people who had suffered from devastating
earthquakes along the Wasatch
irony.
At that moment, a
dark-haired girl of about thirteen or fourteen dressed in a blue and
gray school uniform, arrived from the kitchen carrying a silver tray
with a porcelain coffee set. Linder immediately identified her as
Kendall’s stepdaughter, Caroline. She set the tray on a low table
and began distributing cups of dark Arabic coffee and tumblers of
mineral water among the men without raising her eyes. It took all of
Linder’s self-control to tear his eyes away from the girl, for she
bore an unnerving resemblance to her mother, whom Linder had known at
approximately the same age.
Denniston had assured
him that Kendall’s family would not visit the apartment, and so
Linder was caught off guard. Kendall, too, seemed surprised to see
Caroline. As soon as she emptied the tray, he signaled for her to
leave it behind and return to the kitchen. Linder looked away from
the girl as she retreated and noticed Eaton watching him with
interest as he left the coffee untouched.
“Would you like
something other than coffee, Mr. Tanner?” Eaton offered.
Linder felt tiny beads
of perspiration forming under his eyes and on his forehead and
smelled the pungent odor of his own sweat. He returned Eaton’s gaze
and wondered if his host had noticed his surprised reaction at seeing
Caroline.
“No thank you,”
Linder replied.
“I’m still a bit
confused about your group’s objectives, Mr. Tanner,” Eaton
continued, leaning forward in the same manner as when he asked about
Rockwell and President Buchanan. “Is your primary goal to resettle
your fellow Mormons on their ancestral lands? Or is it to gain some
measure of autonomy for Utah? Or do you aim to oust the Unionist
dictatorship entirely?”
“I would have to say
all of the above,” Linder answered, recovering his balance. “Our
immediate goal is to gather our fellow Latter-day Saints wherever
they might be and bring them back to Utah. But, after having our
religion outlawed and over a million of our people forcibly relocated
to northern labor camps, we aim for autonomy on our territory until
Unionism is completely eradicated.”
“I see,” Eaton
replied in a flat voice. “And how do you believe Roger and I might
help you?” Linder sensed that Eaton’s interest might be flagging.
By now, the old man had heard pitches from nearly every rebel faction
alive. He had to make the MRM stand out as special, but how?
“Financially, for the
most part,” Linder answered while he racked his brain for a better
answer. “But we need help of all kinds, of course.”
“And you would use
the funds for…?” Eaton asked without looking up from his coffee.
“Relocation support
to smuggle our people back into the Utah Security Zone,
communications equipment, identity documents, training,” Linder
replied. “Whatever it takes to help our returnees make a new
start.”
Philip Eaton paused to
finish his coffee, then crossed his legs once more and settled back
into the sofa. Though Eaton looked relaxed, a sixth sense told Linder
that a curve ball was on its way.
“If you don’t mind,
please tell me more about what your people have experienced under the
Unionists. I understand that the regime cracked down hard on Utah
when your governor refused to commandeer LDS church emergency
supplies to benefit the California refugees who came to stay. I’d
like to hear your take on what happened then.”
Linder took a deep
breath and resettled himself in his chair. It was a curve ball, a
juicy one, and he was ready to clobber it.
“Never in history,”
Linder began, fixing his eyes on Eaton’s, “has any community
offered a more generous response to victims of a natural disaster
than the relief that Utahns and the LDS Church gave to the exodus of
California refugees flowing through our state. When federal relief
supplies ran out, Utahns and the LDS church kept on giving, often at
the expense of local people who had suffered from devastating
earthquakes along the Wasatch
Similar Books
