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The Mormon

The Mormon

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The Mormon

35 pages
31 minutes
Jun 5, 2010


Three members of a secret organization sit in a Calcutta bar and discuss an ancient codex they have recently purloined from a Tibetan monastery. They know that the key to unlocking the knowledge contained within the codex is a young Mormon who has been spirited away to the Rason-Marinetti Oil Platform to analyze the validity of what just might be Siberian seer stones.

Jun 5, 2010

À propos de l'auteur

Jon Thorpe resides in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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The Mormon - Jon Thorpe

The Mormon

Jon Thorpe

Published by Jon Thorpe at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Jon Thorpe


Aydin Filip took a drink of Kingfisher before placing the still cold bottle against his sweating brow. He looked down from his third floor balcony at the tempting blue water of the courtyard pool and then checked his watch. Irvin Llywellyn was due to have knocked on his door over an hour ago but Aydin had heard nothing from him to account for the delay so certainly a quick dip could hardly be unjustified under these circumstances, especially since the attractive dark brown woman in the black bikini was finally alone.

Aydin let out a breath and stepped back inside his room. He shuddered uncontrollably for a moment as his sweat covered body was overwhelmed by the air conditioning’s chill.

The phone rang. Aydin answered.

Mr. Filip? the pleasant woman’s voice in the almost unaccented English asked.


I have a message for you from a Mr. Llywellyn.

Yes, what is it?

He’d like you to meet him in thirty minutes at the Broken Tusk.

The Broken Tusk?

It’s a small bar at the back of the Sri Ganesha Hotel. It’s a very popular place with backpacking tourists.

Is it close?

Not far, near the corner of Banerjee and Free School Street.

Thank you.

I’ll have a map waiting for you at the concierge’s table.

Once again, thank you.

Aydin hung up the phone. He finished the rest of his beer. Again he thought about a quick swim, about possibly making eye contact with the dark brown girl, but he decided against it. He pulled himself out of his clothes, showered, and put on a comfortable khaki suit.

Damn you’re a handsome fellow, Aydin thought to himself as he took a last glimpse in the mirror before leaving his room.

Aydin picked up the hastily drawn map left for him at the concierge’s desk. He turned it around in his hands a few times in an effort to coordinate his location within the geographic metaphor. When he felt comfortable he put on his sunglasses and stepped out from the hotel’s plush, eclectic, wicker-filled neocolonial lobby into the crushing onslaught of humidity and humanity of the Hindu street.

Aydin walked with meaning and authority, glancing at the map in those moments when his self-imposed sense of confidence began to wane. He crossed Banerjee and made his way down a small alley. The smell of curry and other spices was pleasantly strong

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