Free NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) by Stephen Woodfin Page A

the conversation, but could tell the guard was doing most of the listening. He saw him hang up the phone and watched him retrace his steps with a look on his face like a person wears after an ass-eating.
    “Can I see some identification, Mr. Nussbaum?” he asked.
    Stanley handed him his driver’s license and United States passport. The guard motioned him through the line and gave him his personal effects and the shrink-wrapped book.
    “Sorry, sir. We’re a little edgy around here this morning.”
    “No problem. How do I get to the jail?” Nussbaum asked.
    “Take the elevator all the way to the top. When you step off, you’ll see a glassed-in cage. You’ll have to check in there.”
    Upstairs the jailer in the observation booth examined his IDs and motioned for him to stand in front of the large iron door that led to the secure area of the lockup. Another jailer escorted him to the room where Leon always visited Westmoreland.
    Nussbaum sat down and looked at the book as he waited. When he saw Westmoreland at the door, he held the book in his left hand behind his back, hiding it from view.
    “So good to see you, Stanley.” Westmoreland beamed as they shook hands. “What a great surprise,” he said. “Sit down. We have some catching up to do.”
    As soon as both men were seated, Stanley stood up again, took his hand from behind his back and placed the book in front of Frank on the table.
    “I thought you might want to see a new book that is coming out today from Nussbaum Press,” Stanley said smiling.
    Westmoreland left the book on the table and placed both of his hands on it for a second. Then he picked it up and held it close to his face, observing every detail on the front cover before flipping it over and doing the same for the back. He took his right thumb and poked a hole in the plastic shrink wrap. Slowly, he peeled it off until the book was free. He held the book in his left hand and ran his right thumb across the outside edge of the pages. He opened the book randomly to a spot near the middle and lifted it so that it was just in front of him at a height slightly below his chin. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if the words on the page were smoldering incense at an altar to an unknown deity.
    He laid the book on the table and opened it to the first page of the text. He read a couple of paragraphs to himself. Then he turned to the last page and found the final paragraph. He glanced up at Stanley for a second, who nodded at him with his hands folded in front of him like a student waiting to see if he passed his final.
    Westmoreland straightened his back and drew the book closer to him as he began to read: “I sit here in this prison cell like Jonah in the belly of the whale. But I am not in this prison because I am running from God, but because I am running to him. He has brought me to this hour, and I have given myself over to his power. I will serve him so long as he gives me breath. My fellow Christian Militants please join me in God’s Struggle to bring in his kingdom, the New Israel, and mankind’s next best hope. Amen.”
    He closed the book for a second, then opened the front jacket, took a pen from his pocket and inscribed the words, “Delivered to me in prison by my friend, Stanley Nussbaum, on the day of its first publication.” Below the inscription, he signed, “J. Franklin Westmoreland.”
    “Stanley, what can I say? It is beyond anything I could have imagined.”
    “It is in the stores this morning, Frank. People are lined up around the block trying to buy not just one copy, but as many as they can get their hands on. I have the printers working around the clock. At the rate things are going, you will put J.K. Rowling to shame.” Nussbaum could hardly contain his excitement.
    Suddenly, his mood turned somber.
    “But I am worried about the movement, Frank.”
    “What is troubling you?” Westmoreland asked.
    “It’s your right hand man, Martinez. Are you sure you should