NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) (4 page)

“Yes, Mr. President. I am familiar with the process. Do you want me to make the calls and get the process moving?” Aloysius said.

“I would appreciate it. General, I want all the soldiers and their commanders to know that they are going to these cities to keep peace, not make war. I don’t want a repeat of some of the atrocities of the civil rights era. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely, Mr. President,” Sherman said as he walked out the door.

Whitfield turned his attention back to Link Jefferson. “What, if anything, do you know about the connection between Ithurial Finis and Westmoreland?”

“Until a couple of hours ago, we knew nothing. All we know for sure is that his personal body guard is the man who almost certainly assassinated your predecessor in this building,” Link said.

“There’s more to it than that,” Ert said. “Westmoreland timed his announcement so that it would gain the greatest national coverage. He knew people would have him and his movement under a microscope as soon as the cameras went off. He made no attempt to hide Finis. I think he is testing the waters. He wants to see how far he can push the administration, your administration, Mr. President. He has issued a challenge, fired a shot across the bow.”

The President paused for a second.

“Regardless of the politics of it, we can’t let the prime murder suspect parade himself openly in public without going after him. Westmoreland can go to hell.”

“Mr. President, may I say something?” Leadoff asked.

“Of course, that’s why you’re here,” Bass said.

“From what Link said, I take it that we don’t have a case against Westmoreland for anything, yet. We don’t even know, although we have our suspicions, that he knew anything about Finis’ part in the assassination. He may well have him as his body guard because of his sterling resume´ that includes the top spot in the Secret Service.”

“And your point is?” the president asked.

“My point is that the immediate focus of the search needs to be Finis, not Westmoreland. If you’re not careful how you handle this, you may turn Westmoreland into a martyr and give him the bully pulpit he wants,” Leadoff said.

“I agree with you,” the President said looking Leadoff in the eye. “But I think I may have to take on some political water on this one. I’m not going to handle Westmoreland with kid gloves if there is a chance he may be sheltering the President’s assassin.”

Link’s cell phone rang.

“Okay. Where are they taking him? All right. Keep me posted every fifteen minutes. I’ll be down there in a couple of hours,” he said to the person on the other end of the line.

They all looked at Link.

“Our most recent discussion is now moot. That was the lead agent in Nashville. There is no sign of Finis, but ten minutes ago, the FBI arrested another man on the charge of conspiracy to assassinate the president.”

“Who was it?” Ert asked.

“J. Franklin Westmoreland,” the Attorney General said.

THE NEXT DAY
, a black Suburban skidded to a stop in front of a hunting cabin hidden high up in the Sandia Mountains outside Albuquerque. An old soldier hopped out of the driver’s seat and trotted towards the cabin’s door.

“Not so fast there, friend,” a man said as he stepped out on the porch with a Glock 9 mm pointed at the stranger. “You need to identify yourself in a hurry, or your day is going to take a sudden turn for the worse.”

The soldier smiled and extended his hand. “I’m sorry for my bad manners. I’m General Sherman Aloysius. I’m looking for Quanah Parker Brown.”

The man never took his eyes off Aloysius but raised his gun and scratched the back of his head with it. “I don’t suppose Ert and Leadoff had anything to do with this, did they?” he said as he shook the general’s hand. “I’m Brown.”

“They said they knew somebody who wasn’t afraid of a fight and knew how to get things done. They also said you fought too many battles for the wrong reasons and might want to make up for some of that.”

“No offense, general, but it would have to be an awful good cause to bring me back into action,” Brown said. He walked over to a handmade rocking chair on the porch and sat down. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Sherman Aloysius arranged his chair so that he faced Brown head on and sat down.

“Have you been keeping up with what has happened in the world the last month?” Sherman asked.

“I’m in seclusion because I wanted to be alone for awhile. I haven’t cut off communication with the world. I know about the assassinations, the race riots, and yesterday’s arrest of a guy in Nashville on conspiracy to kill the President charges. When I saw your car coming up the hill, I figured it had something to do with some or all of those things,” Brown said.

Aloysius’ regard for Ert and Leadoff went up with every word that came out of Brown’s mouth. He had spent a lot of time with men who were fighting for their lives. He knew Brown was the sort of man he would want next to him in a firefight.

“Have you ever heard of Ithurial Finis?” the general asked.

“Who hasn’t? All pro middle linebacker; left the NFL at the pinnacle of his football career to join the Secret Service; became head of the White House Secret Service attachment. I heard about him when I was with Homeland Security but never had the pleasure of meeting him, although I heard he was one bad sumbitch, if you’ll pardon my language,” Brown said.

“He is one bad sumbitch for sure,” Aloysius said. “The evidence points to him as the President’s killer. Yesterday, he stood next to the man in Nashville you mentioned earlier as he made a speech about his group, the Christian Militants. That group is positioning itself to make a play against the federal government.”

“You’re talking Civil War type stuff?” Brown asked.

“Maybe.”

“So what it is you want me to do, general?”

“Finis walked right out of our grasp yesterday. The FBI arrested Westmoreland, hoping he would cave under the pressure and give him up. I don’t think that is going to happen anytime soon, and I want Finis now, not a year from now. So your assignment would be to find him and bring him in by any means necessary.”

Brown didn’t answer, but rose from his chair and walked down the three wooden steps from the porch to the rock-paved parking lot. He strolled to the edge of the woods where he could smell the spring freshness of the spruce branches. He picked up a rock and hurled it down the side of the mountain, listening to it ricocheting off the boulders in the long drop. He pulled his billfold from his pocket and carefully extracted an old photograph that he studied for a minute or two before gently inserting it back in its place. He bowed his head and thought about things he had done in anger, in service to his country, or for revenge or redemption. After about ten minutes, he re-joined Aloysius, who had never moved from his chair or spoken a word.

“Ithurial Finis is the sort of man who will be hard to find and even harder to capture,” Brown said. “What are my orders if it comes down to him or me? The secret of the plot to assassinate the President might die with him, just like it did with Oswald,” Brown said.

“In that circumstance, your orders are to do what you must to ensure your own safety,” Sherman Aloysius said.

Brown extended his hand to the general. “Tell Ert and Leadoff they owe me one,” he said.

“I’ll send you information about your contact at the FBI in a few minutes. You are doing a great service to your country, Agent Brown.”

“Let’s hope the good guys win,” Brown said.

He watched Sherman Aloysius get back in his car and drive away. Then, he went into his cabin, packed a knapsack full of supplies, grabbed the weapons and equipment he always kept ready, loaded them all into his green Camaro, raced down the mountain road not looking back and turned east on the highway on his way to Nashville.

A MAN WHO
looked younger than his forty-five years, in a dark blue business suit with a briefcase in his hand, stepped off a streetcar on St. Charles Avenue, in front of Tulane University. He walked a couple of blocks through turn-of-the-century mansions on the tree-lined streets of the Garden District, where camellias burst forth in brilliant colors, amazed all the time that the neighborhood had remained pristine, virtually untouched by Katrina’s wrath.

Under the heat of the mid-day sun, he took an embroidered handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead where a jet black curl of hair fell almost into his eyes. He shucked his jacket and threw it over his shoulder. He reached in his pocket for a note on a slip of paper and checked the address. At first glance, he thought he was at the wrong place because he saw no cars parked on the narrow street, or in the circular drive. When he rang the bell, a vivacious nineteen-year-old girl with brilliant red hair answered the door. She had a mint julep in her right hand.

“Come right in, Congressman Farragut. We don’t hold the deeds of your ancestors against you,” she said with a Scarlett O’Hara lilt in her voice and the slightest whiff of a curtsy about her person. A faint smile creased the corners of her mouth as she contemplated the cuteness of her greeting.

“I’m proud to hear that,” the Minority Leader said, as he grinned back at her and gave her a wink.

“They are meeting in the library. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Lemonade would be great. It’s getting hot out there,” he said.

“Go on in the library, and I’ll have someone bring it to you in just a minute,” she said.

In the library, he found a number of his colleagues, all members of the minority party in the United States Congress. Their secret convocation had nothing to do with governing the country and everything to do with tipping the balance of power back in the right direction, their direction.

Farragut wasted no time getting to the point.

“Members of Congress,” he began, “you all realize that we stand at a critical moment in the history of our country and our party. I know I speak for everyone in the room when I say that we wish President Whitfield the best in his attempt to pilot the ship of state.”

He heard grumblings in the crowd.

“But, nevertheless, we cannot abandon, even at this grave hour, our role as the loyal opposition,” he continued.

Now he heard applause from many.

“I have to say that the term ‘loyal opposition’ has always puzzled me,” he continued.

There were some laughs in the audience now.

“Loyal to what? I am loyal to the people of this great country, not to a man from nowhere, a man who has never run for office, let alone won an election,” he said as the mood in the room became like that on the floor of Congress when they voted as a block against a measure they knew they could not defeat.

“A person could ask who it is that stood the most to gain 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.

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.