NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) Read Free Page B

those around the table. It continued until the President motioned everyone to sit down.
    After the mood in the room had quieted, President Whitfield asked each Cabinet member to report on the status of his or her department. He then excused them except for Ert, Leadoff, Link Jefferson, and Sherman Aloysius.
    “Link, I know things have developed fast, but do you have any clue yet who is behind the assassinations?” Bass asked.
    “We are working every angle to try to get to the bottom of it,” Link said. “No one has claimed responsibility, so we are assuming they want to remain hidden. We don’t have a handle on whether it is a domestic or foreign threat. However, no one could have gotten to the President without strong ties deep into the inner sanctum of the government,” he said.
    “I figured as much,” President Whitfield said. “I want these two men as my personal bodyguards,” he said, handing Link a piece of paper with the names of the two young cotton farmers, BB and Nate, on it.
    “I’ll get right on it, Mr. President,” Link said.
    “Mr. President,” Sherman Aloysius said. “I think it is entirely possible that our present situation is a prelude to a political move by enemies of the union, people who had become disenchanted and fearful of your predecessor’s policies.”
    “I’m listening, general,” Bass said.
    “Nothing in the country’s history rivals these events. We have heard for months the growing animosity of those who opposed him. I firmly believe that they have orchestrated these events to create a vacuum of leadership, so that they could fill it with their own people. They have staged a coup by killing ten people rather than a million, and making an attempt to kill eleven, that would be you, Bascom,” he said. “I expect to see someone come forward soon, not to claim responsibility for the murders, but to proclaim himself as the person who can lead the country out of the slough of despond, a self-appointed savior who is probably the mastermind of the conspiracy.”
    “Makes sense to me,” Leadoff said.
    “To me, too,” Whitfield said. “Let’s see who comes forward and take it from there. Meanwhile, I am going to show them that even though I never asked for this job, I am up to it.”
    “We have no doubt, Mr. President,” Ert said as each person in the room nodded his approval.

CHAPTER 6
     
    TWO WEEKS AFTER the assassinations, J. Franklin Westmoreland drove to a mountain retreat near Gatlinburg, Tennessee. His host, the scion of a timber baron, met him in the driveway and escorted him, with much pomp and circumstance, into the main dining hall of his home where twenty-five prominent clergymen sat waiting for him. When they saw him enter the room, they stood and applauded. “Praise the Lord’s” filled the house. When Westmoreland took his seat at the head of the table, his face shone like Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration.
    The table was spread with prime rib, barbeque, grilled and fried chicken, boiled shrimp, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, okra, steamed and fried rice, and corn on the cob. The dessert table featured pecan pie, coconut pie, banana pudding, and everyone’s favorite—bread pudding with whiskey sauce.
    Young waitresses with southern European accents served carafes of red and white wine to the preachers who drank from large silver goblets. In the background, a famous southern gospel quartet performed a list of their greatest hits.
    When everyone finished eating, the host introduced Westmoreland, who stood at a lectern to address the crowd.
    “Brothers and sisters, it warms my heart to see you here this evening, not to honor me, but to honor our Lord Jesus,” he began.
    Amens.
    “From my conversations with many of you, I know that in recent months and years we have all shared a fear that our beloved land was slipping into the hands of the Enemy. I am here to announce to you this evening that we are going to reclaim it for the Lord.”
    Louder