“Mm,” the president said.
A beat, which Branson presumed was due to the president correcting his speech.
“All right,” Green said, after a moment. “I think that’s got it. Not that it will help all that much. That bastard Yusuf’stelling people he’s the Oracle, and people down there believe him. He’s already got an army together, and half his soldiersare just kids. Even if we do send troops to Niger, the idea of big, bad U.S. soldiers gunning down nine-year-olds is . . .well, shit. I might as well hand the election to Wilson.”
“Daniel, come on,” Branson said, his tone forceful. “You know this is a long game. Election day is still quite a ways off.”
“I realize that, Hosiah,” the president replied. “And I can see about a hundred ways things can get worse. Not so many waysthey can get better. We’ve got troops on the ground in Afghanistan and Syria, and now we’re seriously talking about goinginto a third country. The Dow’s fallen over a hundred points every day this month, and most of the other economic indicatorsaren’t much better. China can’t get its house in order, and we’re tied so closely to them that anything bad that hits theirmarkets ripples out and nails ours within a day.
“Honestly,” he went on, “I don’t know why the hell anyone even wants this job.”
“You could always resign,” Branson said. “No law says you have to run for a second term.”
“Uh-huh,” Green said. “I’d miss the free plane, though.”
The president cleared his throat, which Branson knew was a signal that the conversation was wrapping up.
“Thank you, Hosiah,” Green said. “I appreciate you taking the time—you know how important your perspective is to me.”
“Of course, Daniel. I am at your disposal, any time you need me. But if there isn’t anything else, I have a—”
“There is one thing, actually,” the president said. “The Oracle.”
Branson’s grip on his phone tightened.
“Yes?” he said. “What about him?”
“I’ve seen you, Hosiah. You’re on every talk show that will have you, writing editorials . . . you’re going full-on scorchedearth as far as the Oracle goes. Pretty much calling him the Antichrist.”
“I’m just following my gut on this one, Daniel. I truly believe everything I’m saying. People think of the Oracle like a . . .party trick. Or maybe some sort of savior. As I see it, not enough people understand that he’s dangerous. I’ve been blessedwith a pulpit, and I feel obligated to use it.”
“I get that, Hosiah. But I need you to back off.”
Branson’s face went hot.
The president had never—not once in all the years he’d been the man’s spiritual adviser, since almost a decade before he gotanywhere near the White House—attempted to exert any sort of influence over Branson’s Ministry. He’d never asked for a favor,never asked Branson to campaign for him, even in those states where a few words during a sermon could have made a real difference.It was one of the reasons their relationship stayed strong, he’d always felt. Neither one of them asked for anything fromthe other beyond friendship and advice.
Until now. The goddamned Oracle, thrusting himself into Branson’s affairs again.
“Back off?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“You just need to tone it down. The thing is, we still don’t know much about the Oracle, but if he can really do what it seemslike he can do—”
“He can’t,” Branson said, his voice flat and certain.
The president paused, then continued.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t interrupt me again,” he said, his tone gone cold. “I understand that you have a point of view, Reverend.But everyone knows you and I are close, and if the Oracle does turn out to be . . . what he seems . . . then I want him asan ally. Period. We’ve got our own plans in place to make contact with him—Tony Leuchten is handling that situation, and Idon’t want anything to interfere with what he’s doing.”
Green’s voice changed, softening.
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Hosiah. Nothing would hurt me more than having to cut ties. That is the last thing Iwant to do.”
Cut . . . ties? Branson thought.
He thought about the ripples that would spin out from the president no longer being willing to take the calls of ReverendHosiah Branson. Green would be first, but word would spread, first to the politicians, then to the businessmen, then to everyoneelse. He’d be done. Done.
And the Oracle would have won. No. It couldn’t be allowed.
“Daniel, I’ll do what you say—I’ll back down—but I’ve already authorized a small ad campaign that will be putting out some . . .ah . . . strong rhetoric about the Oracle. We’ve already paid for it, and we can’t get the money back. I’ll do my best todistance the Ministry from the ads, though.”
Silence from the other end of the line. Branson swallowed once, then continued.
“And I’m going ahead with the live broadcast when that bastard’s prediction about me is supposed to come true. That’s my life,Daniel. My life. The Oracle might as well have called me out for a showdown at high noon. I will eat every bite of that steak,without a damn bit of pepper anywhere near it, and the whole world will watch me do it.”
Still nothing from the other end of the phone. Five seconds passed. Ten. And then, finally, the president spoke.
“I’m sorry, Hosiah, I didn’t catch that. An aide was just talking to me . . . I need to go,” he said.
The line went dead. Branson slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He set it on the counter in front of him and looked athis reflection in the large, three-paned mirror set onto the wall.
“You can come back in,” he called out.
Three people entered the dressing room—his stylist, his makeup girl, and Brother Jonas, in his dark suit and tie, frowningdown at his phone like it was a pet gerbil that had just taken a crap in his hand.
The makeup artist took a small gauze pad from a makeup dish sitting on the counter in front of Branson and started dabbingpowder on his forehead without a word. She’d been about halfway through the
