"Stop!" the man said to the dog. The dog quit barking, but continued to strain against his hold. He turned to the visitors.

"Whatcha want?" he said, looking them both in the eye.

Deem stammered. She wasn't sure where to start. The man obviously wanted a quick explanation of why she was there, and she wasn't quite prepared to sum it all up in a short sentence.

"I urged my friend to come see you," Winn said, jumping in, "because I believe you may know some things that would help her."

"Help her how?" Claude asked, pulling back on the dog.

Winn waited for Deem to offer up the next answer, but Deem still seemed frozen. Winn elbowed her.

"I'm sorry," Deem said. "I was hoping to talk with you, but I'm really intimidated by your dog."

"That's why he's here," Claude said. "You selling anything?"

"No," Deem said, trying to hide her nervousness. "Was just hoping you might know something about people who have 'the gift.' Mormons, in particular."

"You a journalist?" Claude asked. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a student," she said. She knew this was half true; she was sitting out the current semester.

"I work in construction," Winn said, which was true when he had a job.

"Anybody send you?" Claude asked.

"Nope," Winn said. "All my idea."

"Hold on a second," Claude said, and closed the door. The dog started barking again, and they heard him pulling it deeper into the house.

"This was a bad idea," Deem said, looking at the ground.

"Just breathe," Winn said. "He's putting the dog away. That's a good sign."

Within a minute Claude returned and opened the door. They could hear the dog barking in the distance. "I put Kimo in the back yard," Claude said. "He's very protective."

"Yes, he seems...protective," Deem said, feeling embarra.s.sed.

"Why don't you two come inside before someone spots you on my doorstep," Claude said, stepping back and allowing them inside. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have had you park further down the block, but no matter."

He escorted them into his living room, which was small and crammed with stacks of magazine and papers. In one corner of the room was a table filled with electronics. There was a large microphone on a stand. Deem a.s.sumed it was his radio station.

"Do you broadcast?" Deem said.

"KBUH, the Hour of Truth," Claude said. "Every night at seven p.m. Ever heard it?"

"No, I haven't," Deem said. "I've never heard that station."

"That's because you need a special radio to get the signal," Claude said, sitting in a large overstuffed chair. "Please, sit," he said, motioning them to a brown cloth couch. The tables on each end of the couch were piled high with stacks of magazines and papers.

"I am planning on putting the program on the internet if I can ever figure out how to do it," Claude said. "I've been broadcasting the Hour for more than thirty years. Lots of people listen to it, from all over the world."

"Sounds interesting," Deem said.

"How would you know?" Claude asked. "You've never heard it."

"You're right," Deem said. "But I suppose I'd be willing to give it a shot."

"Get yourself a shortwave radio," Claude said. "You'll be surprised what's on it."

"I'm Winn," Winn said to Claude, "and this is Deem. I suggested she come see you, since she's been trying to get some information on her father, and she's being stonewalled."

"By whom?" Claude asked.

"Joseph Dayton," Deem said.

"Counselor in the Mesquite Nevada Stake Presidency," Claude said.

"You know him?" Deem asked.

"I do," Claude said. "But what are you trying to get from him?"

"Information about my father," Deem said. "Robert Hinton."

"Oh," Claude said. "You're President Hinton's daughter?"

"Yes," Deem said, surprised that Claude was using the Mormon t.i.tle her father had before he died.

"My condolences," Claude said.

"Thank you," Deem replied.

"I have to tell you," Claude said, "most families of prominent Mormons wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near me. I'm persona non grata to them. To most people around here."

"I'm aware of that," Deem said.

"So I'm right to be suspicious when one shows up at my door step," Claude said.

"I suppose so," Deem said.

"Before we go any further," Claude said, "I have to know if you're carrying anything that might record me. A phone, a wire, a tape recorder, anything like that."

"No, I'm not," Deem said.

He turned to Winn.

"Me either," Winn said.

"I'll have to check," Claude said. He stood and walked to a metal filing cabinet and opened it. He removed an electronic wand with small LED lights on the handle. Deem recognized it as a metal detector, the hand-held kind they used at airports.

"You're going to scan us?" Deem asked, a little surprised.

"I can't take any chances," Claude said. "If you want to talk, I insist."

"Alright," Deem said.

"Please stand up, if you would," Claude said, turning on the device. He waved it over Deem, and it screeched as it pa.s.sed over her front pants pocket.

"My phone," Deem said.

"Would you take it out please?" Claude asked.

Deem removed the phone as Claude proceeded to check Winn. His pockets set off another alarm from the device. Winn dug into them and removed his phone and his car keys.

"I have a box I'll put these in until we're done," Claude said, extending his hand to collect their phones. "It blocks all transmissions, and is soundproof. I promise you'll get them back when you leave."

Deem looked at Winn. He pa.s.sed his phone to Claude, and Deem followed suit. Claude went back to his filing cabinets and replaced the metal detector, then opened another drawer and lifted the lid from a box inside. He placed the phones in the box, replaced the lid, and closed the drawer.

"Well, this is a first for me," Deem said. "I've never had my phone taken away before. Except once in school."

"You should try living without it for a day," Claude said. "The convenience is far outstripped by the loss of privacy. Now, tell me what you wanted from Brother Dayton that you didn't get."

Deem relayed the story of suspecting her father kept a journal, and confronting Dayton about it. Winn jumped in to mention he'd heard of Claude's stories about Mormon gifteds.

"So you're both gifted?" Claude asked.

"Yes," Deem said. "Are you?"

"No," Claude asked. "I've just been blessed with an ability to cut through bullpucky and see what's really going on."

"You're not a member of the church?" Deem asked.

"No, not for many years now," he said.

"But you obviously keep up on who's in charge," Deem said, "if you knew my father was a Stake President."

"The most powerful force around here," Claude said, "aside from the radiation fallout, is the LDS church. You can't know what's really going on if you don't know what it's doing. It's more powerful than all the politicians down here, 'cause they're all members. You don't get elected unless you're a Mormon, you know that."

"It's less that way in Nevada," Winn said, "but I know what you mean."

"Are you two LDS?" Claude asked.

"I never was," Winn said.

"I was raised LDS," Deem said, "but I stopped going a couple of years ago, after my father died. My mother is still very active."

"So then you must know what a unique problem you present to them," Claude said. "Your father was gifted too, right?"

"Yes," Deem said.

"I thought so!" Claude said. "And you think Brother Dayton might be gifted, too, am I right?"

"Yes," Deem said. "He and my father were great friends. They spent a lot of time together. I a.s.sumed that's why my father picked him as a counselor when he became stake president several years back."

"What did Brother Dayton tell you when you confronted him?" Claude asked.

"He said he never saw my father keep a journal," Deem said, "but that a journal was a personal thing, and if my father kept one, he wouldn't have seen it. When I started suggesting things about the gift and the River, he acted like I was from outer s.p.a.ce. Went into complete church counselor mode, spouting the normal c.r.a.p. It felt like he was lying."

"Your father's other counselor, Brother Linden, became Stake President when your father died," Claude said, "and Brother Dayton is still a counselor in the stake presidency, now reporting to Linden. He's in a very powerful role. Do you think he'd jeopardize that by revealing to you that he's gifted?"

"Why not?" Deem said. "I'm gifted, I get it. He must know I am, I'm his friend's daughter."

"You are not very familiar with the kind of secrets Mormons keep, are you?" Claude said. "You dropped out before you went to the temple, am I right?"

"I went when I was twelve," Deem said.

"Baptisms for the dead," Claude said. "Yes, all kids do them. But you never went for your Endowment, am I right?"

"Right," Deem said. "I became heathen long before that."

"So you at least know that the Endowment is secret," Claude said.

"Well, they always told us in church that it was sacred, not secret," Deem said.

"Right," Claude said. "So sacred that it's kept secret. So it's secret, regardless. Every adult Mormon in good standing keeps secrets."

"If you say so," Deem said. "I don't really know the details."

"I won't get into them," Claude said. "I just want you to know what you're dealing with. Dayton has taken oaths to keep certain things secret. Keeping his gift secret is probably even more important to him, since it isn't something that normal Mormonism encompa.s.ses. If it were to get out that he's gifted, he'd certainly lose his t.i.tle, and probably his membership. The church's rules have no accommodation for the gift. Those who have it must either suppress it, or find a way to use it that keeps it secret."

"That's the boat my father was in," Deem said. "I never understood how he balanced the two. He was obviously successful in the church, but he used the gift too, because he taught me all about it. If he thought it was bad or against the church, he wouldn't have shown it to me."

"Did you ever discuss how he managed that?" Claude asked.

"No," Deem said. "He died before we ever had that conversation. But he never once made me feel bad or ashamed for using the gift. Not once."

"I think I know why he never talked about it with you," Claude said.

"Why?" Deem asked.

"You're a woman," Claude said.

Deem knew instantly what Claude meant. In the Mormon world, Deem would never run in the same circles her father did all the leadership roles went to men.

"Then he felt it was something I didn't need to know?" Deem asked.

"Because you'd never have to balance it like he had to," Claude said. "He probably hoped you'd get married and start pumping out the babies. Use your gift to keep track of the kids."

Deem lowered her head and felt like crying. She had always felt that her father wanted more for her, inspired her to go to college and do something great with her life. She never felt that he saw her as a normal Mormon girl; he had always told her that she was special and destined for big things. She remembered the day she had asked him why girls weren't allowed to hold the priesthood in the church, even though all of the boys got to. He looked pained, like it was a conversation he had hoped he would never have to have. And when he explained to her how G.o.d only gives the priesthood to men, she felt slapped in the face. She couldn't change her s.e.x; by making her female, G.o.d had decided she would never be worthy, never as important as men. She knew in her heart, the moment she heard it, that it was wrong, and she saw that her father believed that too, although he was telling her the church line. He wouldn't look at her as he talked to her about it. He knew what it was doing to her, how his words were sinking into her, teaching her the first of many lessons that women were to be subservient to men, and she knew he felt awful for it, that it was counter to what he really believed about her. Ever since that day, she'd known he didn't always mean many of the things he said, especially when it related to the church and her s.e.x. Others hadn't known that he felt this way, but she knew, and she held onto that knowledge whenever misogyny or cruel tradition reared its ugly head. Now, with him gone, she had to hold onto those small signals that he'd sent to her, telling her that she was as good, as worthy, as important as any boy. She had used those signals many times, at critical points in her childhood when she felt beaten down. It made her miss him terribly. She raised her hand to her face, not wanting the others to see her cry.