military policy on something like that?”
“I’ll bet Westmoreland has an answer for that one,” Ert said.
“Damn right,” Bass said. “He and the rest of his cronies think they have an inside track on God. The problem is a lot of people in this country believe they do, too. It’s hard for me to know what I’m thinking, much less what God is thinking.”
“This may be beyond my job description, Mr. President,” Ert said. “But I have something I’d like to show you.”
Ert reached into his brief case and pulled out a pad with several pages of notes he had taken in Arizona while he read Josh’s journals.
“You’re not going to believe what I am about to tell you,” Ert said.
“Give me a try,” President Whitfield said.
For the next two hours, the men sat at the desk of the President of the United States and poured over Ert’s notes, notes that foretold cataclysmic events that had already unfolded and some that were yet to come.
CHAPTER 19
FATHER’S DAY WEEKEND in Texas, Georgia, Mississippi, Colorado, and Alaska, Christian Militants, now known as CMs, met to debate whether they would remain a part of the United States.
Leon Martinez had orchestrated the conventions, so that he could deliver the keynote address at each one, although he had to walk a tight rope in Texas where the sitting governor expected at least to share the limelight.
A festive spirit dominated the conventions, as if the delegates thought throwing away two hundred and thirty years of democratic tradition nothing of importance compared to the opportunity to bring in God’s kingdom. When the constitution committee presented a document that would enable a single leader to seize power in each state, without an election, and without a term limitation, the assembly stood and cheered, adopting it unanimously as if they had grown weary of democracy.
Leon played his cards close to the chest. Never did he quibble that Westmoreland was heir to the throne, although he never came right out and said so. As was his practice, he deferred any substantive questions, passing them off to delegates, downplaying their significance in the grand scheme of things.
Every day during the sessions, Flash Greenwald focused his program on what he termed the momentous destiny about to unfold. In response to every caller, he fanned the flames of secession, never failing to drop Leon’s name as the political genius behind Westmoreland’s movement.
Sunday evening, delegates in each state voted to secede.
The meaning of the vote was not clear. The delegates weren’t elected representatives of anyone. Rather they were CM hand-picked zealots on a mission.
But they carried a wallop at the ballot box, had deep pockets, and claimed to speak for God. Those who would oppose them would do so at their peril.
• • •
Bass Whitfield, Sherman Aloysius, Ert, and Leadoff sat in the Oval Office watching the election returns that Father’s Day. Their mood grew more somber with each announcement.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Sherman said after a while, breaking the silence.
“The hell it doesn’t,” Bass Whitfield said. “It means these bastards have used God to persuade the citizens of at least five states that they would be better off getting out of the Union. It doesn’t sound like faith to me, it sounds like treason.”
General Aloysius weighed in.
“It’s more like rebellion than treason, Mr. President. You have the power to put down a rebellion,” he said.
“I think he needs to see what the state legislatures do before he mobilizes against our own people,” Leadoff said.
“You’re right,” the general said. “But it’s time to put a military strategy together as a contingency.”
“I figured you already had that covered,” Bass said.
“I’ve been working on it,” the general admitted.
“So, what does it look like?” Ert asked.
Sherman Aloysius drew the men around the table and sketched out how he thought things
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