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

from the treacherous attacks on our elected President and those in the line of succession to the highest office in the land. Undoubtedly, that person is the one who now sits in the White House.”
    He paused for effect, letting his last words sink in before moving to the heart of his speech.
    “I for one believe we have a duty to investigate the facts of this matter, a duty to determine whether Bass Whitfield’s meteoric rise to power was in fact an act of fate, or perhaps something more sinister, more seditious.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, please do not understand me to accuse the President of any wrong-doing. I do not know if, in fact, any exists. But if it does, we, the loyal Americans in this room, need to know it, as do all citizens of this fair land. So, if you will stand with me, I pledge I will prevail on Congress to establish the Office of an Independent Special Prosecutor to get to the bottom of the matter and let the chips fall where they may.”
    As soon as he finished, members huddled around him shaking his hand and slapping him on the back. After an hour or so, he excused himself and headed toward the front door where the redhead saw him out.
    “Don’t you be a stranger around these parts,” she said as she pecked him lightly on the cheek.
    “I wouldn’t think of such a thing,” Farragut said as he watched her wave good bye to him while she leaned her back against the massive oak door, a wistful, faraway look in her eyes.
    He reversed his course, this time walking the distance to the trolley stop with a skip in his step, oblivious to the beauty of the New Orleans neighborhood, not unlike his progenitor who had vanquished the city, all the while distracted by distant battles that lay ahead.
    At the house where he gave his speech, the red-headed teenager slammed the door behind her and said to her father, the host, “I hope we don’t have to pin all our hopes on that pompous jerk.”
    Her father, Arceneau Thibodeaux, threw back his head and laughed. “My dear, we may rise again. We’ll have to wait and see. But we’re going to have to hold our noses and get along with the likes of Farragut if we hope to see it come to pass.”
    “At least you didn’t say something about politics making strange bedfellows. That may be more patriotism than I can muster,” she said.
    Her dad cackled as he walked into the library to visit with his few remaining guests, guests that might hold the few votes necessary to save a sitting President from the likes of the Minority Leader.

CHAPTER 11
     
    BY THE MIDDLE of May, Leon Martinez, serving as J. Frank Westmoreland’s emissary, had crisscrossed the country a dozen times organizing Christian Militant factions into cohesive political parties. On May 20, he announced on CNN that the first state conventions would convene Memorial Day weekend in Juneau, Atlanta, Jackson, and Houston. When questioned, he provided no details about the conventions’ agendas, instead referring reporters to the respective state chairs.
    A week before the conventions were to begin, Martinez met privately with the governors of each host state. At these meetings, he assured them that they had nothing to fear from the movement, so long as they adhered to “the traditional Christian values” upon which the country had been founded. He delivered the same message to congressional caucuses from each state, many members of which had received large campaign contributions gathered by congregants of churches whose pastors belonged to the Christian Militants. He politely extended invitations to the governors and congress people to attend the conventions and even address the body assemblies if they wished.
    Only the Texas governor accepted his invitation.
    On May 25th, a black stretch limo pulled up in front of the Estes Kefauver Federal Courthouse in Nashville. The driver put on his emergency flashers, got out, walked around the rear of the vehicle to the back passenger door, and opened it. Leon Martinez