Read Online The Mormon Candidate - a Novel by Avraham Azrieli - Free Book Online Page B

staircase. “All those Catholic , P rotestant , and Lutheran brothers and sisters now know that Joe Morgan is a fellow believer in Jesus Christ.”
    “It’ s not so simple ,” Ben said. “Mormon beliefs are quite different .”
    She cuddled next to him on the sofa. “How do you know?”
    He held up Zachariah’s iTouch . “The veteran who died today was a Mormon. I’ve been reading his journal.”
    “What?” Keera sat up straight. “You can’t do that! It’s private!”
    “Dead people have no privacy. His organs are probably floating in pickle jars at t he pathologist’s office right now.”
    “That’s disgusting!”
    Ben laughed. “Don’t be so sanctimonious. I know what you guys do in medical school to those poor cadavers.”
    “ That’s totally different! ” She picked up the green-cased iTouch . “ You’re not going to publish it, are you?”
    He shook his head.
    “Then why are you reading it? ”
    “He wrote it to ensure that his story is known in case he dies.”
    “Then give it to his family. It’s no ne of your business ! ”
    “It might be.” Ben took Zachariah’s iTouch from her hand. “It might very well be my business.”
    “Internet voyeurism business? More traffic for Ray ?”
    “ Fancy words, but her fees pay my bills—”
    “ You’re too talented to have to stoop like this, make a buck on the back of this poor dead schmuck . That’s not business. That’s…I don’t know. Greed ! ”
    Ben held up the iTouch. “This is important for me. Way, way, way more important than money, okay?”
    There was something in his voice that made Keera pause and peer closely a t hi m . “What’s going on?”
    “I’m not sure yet.” He got up from the sofa. “ I need to read the rest of it.”

 
     
    Chapter 14
     
    Z.H. Journal Entry # 5 :
     
    Being under fire was n’t new to me after fighting Iraqi forces throughout Kuwait. Conditioned by training , my mind tuned out the noise and fear, and I began to follow the set routine : Seek cover ! Check self and others for injuries ! Return fire!
    Without thinking, I dragged the injured lieutenant with me behind one of the Humve e s . Seven of us made it to this temporary shelter . The eight h was d ead on the street, together with the five bodies of the Red Cross members .
    I checked for injuries. There was a bullet in my thigh, another had passed through my left arm, which was still functional, and a third had put a hole in my right boot , clear through my foot.
    But I felt no pain.
    The others were all injured as well, and the Humvee shook as hundred s of bullets continued to hit it on the side facing the clinic .
    It was time to return fire. I dropped down and rolled on the ground to the front of the Humve e , next to its oversize tire, and peeked out until I had the first window of the clinic in my gun sights. But all I had to aim at were black-clad women sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, shielding our attackers, whose guns protruded through the win dows between the women’s heads.
    I tried to shoot, but couldn’t. My old demon—the mental block against k illing—returned to paralyze me. I tried harder, but my eyes were drawn to a girl, maybe two years old, who rolled off her mother’s lap. Her face turned toward me, twisted with screaming I could not hear.
    Beside me, one of my buddies yelled something. I glanced and saw him claw at his neck, his hands red with blood. We were running out of time!
    With my gun a imed at the women, I ordered my self : Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!
    T he Arab women looked at me t hrough the slits in their burkes .
    It was useless. There was no way I could make myself shoot at these women.
    Giving up on forcing m y finger to press the trigger, I rolled back behind the Humv ee. None of my buddies could do much more than keep their heads down, bite their lips, and attempt to tie tourniquets. T hree s eem ed unconscious. I had to do something.
    Reaching the radio inside the vehicle involved maneu vering my body to