“Afternoon, Quentin, Sam.” Maide nodded in his colleagues’ direction before taking his seat and scanning through the documents tabled for the meeting.
Quentin looked up and glanced momentarily in Maide’s direction. Maide issued a swift almost imperceptible nod. Sam noticed the gesture from the corner of his eye. So much of his life he’d relied on picking up and interpreting non-verbal communication. He’d analyzed the nod before he knew even what he was doing. Was it an acknowledgement, an affirmation or an agreement? Or perhaps, an involuntary head movement with no purpose? Before Sam could dwell further, Quentin turned and spoke to him.
“How are we today? I heard you were a little off last night.”
Quentin eyed Sam’s reaction. Sam shuffled in his chair with more than a little discomfort. He didn’t like Quentin’s insinuation. For an agent, the word “off” had a deeper meaning. It was used to cast judgement on ability. Sam pulled himself inwards, rested his elbows on the table and closed in on Quentin, determined to change his line of thinking.
“Hardly ‘off,’ Quentin. I just needed the love of a good woman.”
“Ellie got her welcome home treat then!”
Maide sniggered.
Sam nodded. Naturally, he had triggered the somewhat salacious response to shift focus from questions on his capability. Sam knew he could control a situation just by simple mind games. Maide and Quentin were no different to anyone else. Despite their training, mention sex and the guards come down momentarily. Previous topics get overlooked in favor of sultry images. All at once, the meeting’s powerbase shifted. Sam was aware that the uptight, secretive and often dangerous nature of their lives worked well with this approach. The inherent need to think of something fun and free was always on the periphery of their unconsciousness, waiting for a trigger to turn it into real thought. All Sam had to do was supply the trigger.
“You must have been starving last night after your trip back from Oslo. I hear the food’s not great over there. But I believe you ate pretty well on your return.”
At first, Sam wasn’t sure what he’d just heard from Maide’s lips.
“Sorry?” said Sam sharply.
“I think what he’s saying, Sam, is that you must have been hungry after your trip. I hope your hunger was suitably sated?” asked Quentin smirking as he swiped a sideways glance at Maide.
“And it helped you build up that stamina of yours,” added Maide.
Sam looked from Quentin to Maide. Their faces held wry sneers and they shared knowing glances between each other. Sam held his initial smile, but inside, he raged. What they’d said and how they’d said it could only mean one thing.
They had surveillance on him.
Sam seethed, remembering yesterday evening’s reunion with Ellie.
How dare they spy on me!
Sam’s training kicked in and he bit down on the anger coursing through him. He channeled his anger into something more beneficial. Like finding out why.
Sam rolled through options in his mind. Was it because he’d questioned Maide over Kinley being pulled? Surely not. They’d had heated arguments before with no such repercussions. Sam shifted in his chair as he tried to recall anything else.
Then he remembered the stark and shattering memory of the events of that morning. Ellie screaming, him believing she was in danger, running in with his gun and telling her his true identity. They must have been watching. They must have seen.
Now he was caught in a game where the rules were unknown. He’d broken the code of silence. Such an action would have consequences he’d have to face. But for now, he could only play their game and see where it would lead him.
“Oh, yeah. My hunger certainly was sated! I feasted well. And you know I have a big appetite,” replied Sam. The smile was hard on his face. His jaw muscles ached from the forced joviality.
The door opened and Dudley Gibbs, Head of MI5, with Paul Weaver, Home Secretary, appeared in the doorway. Gibbs, a dark hulk of a man, ex-army general and an outstanding prop forward in Rugby during his time at Oxford, marched inside. He was talking to Weaver, a tall, bony gent with severe brown eyes, thinly drawn lips and a pale, almost anemic complexion. They took their seats alongside each other at the table and continued speaking, too engrossed in their discussion to recognize the friction in the room between Sam, Maide and Quentin.
In a flash of eyes flicking back and forth, Sam noticed Quentin glancing at Maide. Both carried surreptitious sneers. They had heard Sam’s emphasis on ‘know’. The message had gotten through.
Sam realized that this was one situation where he couldn’t shift the powerbase with just a crude psychological trigger.
Chapter 46
Manipulation of a college president was only the beginning.
Aswa-da always intended Treeborne to achieve a greater goal. He knew it was audacious, but Aswa-da didn’t doubt his subject’s capacity to achieve what he sought.
Aswa-da delved into Treeborne’s life. He’d successfully graduated in Politics from Washington and Lee. His love of the subject matter transcended his studies. Despite the fact he didn’t actually study much for anything, Aswa-da recognized in Treeborne a deep thirst for power. A political career was the route to satisfying that thirst.
Treeborne naturally swayed towards Republican values and hated his parents being staunch Democrats. He joined the Republican Party and became a volunteer, supporting them in the campaigns whilst at college, including a presidential election in ’89.
Aswa-da, at first, was concerned by Treeborne’s blatant use of his trinity of abilities. He wasn’t even trying to hide his capabilities. Even the Republican candidate’s campaign office recognized his uncanny abilities of manipulation and persuasion.
The chief of staff at the campaign office even said, “People seem to trust you, JD. That’s quite something. Trust is hard to earn in anyone. But people naturally believe you. I don’t know whether you’re an angel or the very devil himself. But right now, I don’t care. We’re winning in the polls and that’s all that matters. Keep doing what you do and there will be a place for you here.”
Treeborne stared at the chief of staff. Questioning eyes bore into him. “I could stand for Congress, you mean?”
The chief of staff nodded. “If you can get enough votes behind you to put your name forward, and I’m sure, given what I’ve already seen of your abilities, that’ll be a walk in the park for you. Then yeah, you could stand. I’d back you and I know many more would do the same.”
Treeborne smiled. “I’d really love to do that. I could be one hell of a congressman. You know that.”
“I most certainly do, JD. I most certainly do.”
The chief of staff walked away to handle arrangements for the after-election party, leaving Treeborne to ponder on how quickly he could make it to the House of Representatives.
Aswa-da pushed forward using his shallow elliptical motion and years sped by. Aswa-da watched Treeborne graduate with an MBA from George Mason University in ’91. Aswa-da was sure Treeborne had employed similar techniques he’d used on the previous college president. Aswa-da didn’t need to see Treeborne’s continued descent into depravity. It was enough to know that his descent had picked up in velocity and had a momentum of its own.
Treeborne was dark to the core of his being.
Aswa-da smiled as his subject became ever more obsessed with power and control. Treeborne’s activities with the local Republican office integrated completely into his life. He was taken on as a staffer, having been an intern during his MBA.
The chief of staff who’d recognized his abilities, several years earlier, put Treeborne in charge of communications. Whatever Treeborne wrote, any speech, any collateral, seemed to generate incredible results. From a political perspective, Treeborne had the Midas touch, flipping voters and bringing home the Republican vote in a big way. His 10th Congressional District included some of the wealthiest and most educated in Virginia, and remained in Republican hands for many decades.
“Bleeding-heart liberals should be strung up,” Treeborne said at one of his party meetings. His compatriots laughed. “We need zero tolerance on everything that is damaging to our society. Anything that changes this glorious country needs to be eradicated.”
“True words,” muttered the party faithful.
Aswa-da smirked, enjoying Treeborne’s engagements. He could see his subject had absolute control of the meeting, whipping up his followers into a seething mass of hate and bigotry.
Aswa-da pushed forward toward the end of the 1990’s on Earth. On the screen was a tree-lined street flanked by large houses and immaculate lawns with luxurious cars in all the driveways. Across the street ran banners that read, ‘Treeborne for Congress’. On those immaculate lawns stood boards stating, ‘Treeborne Delivers’. And on those expensive cars, bumper stickers displayed, ‘Trust in Treeborne’.
Inside the campaign office, Treeborne wandered around the room. A sea of bright, young volunteers and interns busily focused on phones and computer screens. Aswa-da was aware that every single face was attractive. Some of the boys and girls giving their all for Treeborne were downright beautiful. He was sure Treeborne had handpicked each one.
The chief of staff who’d always been a supporter of Treeborne remained with him in his campaign. He stood next to a young woman, a twenty-something, stunning specimen who had caught Treeborne’s eye. She was on the phone and talking eagerly about Treeborne’s manifesto, his values, and what he could do for the recipient of the call when he got to Congress.
She glanced up, blue eyes sparkling, at Treeborne as she realized he was standing over her, watching intently. She smiled warmly and continued her discourse.
Treeborne turned away and grabbed his chief of staff’s elbow. “The new girl. Who is she?”
“That’s Nancy Reynolds. He father owns Reynolds Real Estate. He’s a relatively good-sized donator to the cause too. Why?” said the chief of staff. But by his smirk, Aswa-da knew he was well aware of Treeborne’s carnal obsessions.
“I’d like to see her later. Her abilities on the phone, her level of persuasion, it can’t be ignored. I think she could benefit from some personal mentoring. See to it.”
Treeborne’s chief of staff grinned and nodded. “Take it as done, JD.”
Aswa-da skipped forward in time to polling day. He looked at the live display in the campaign office. Treeborne had slaughtered his opposition by a massive majority. The straw boaters flew into the air as Treeborne was announced Congressman for the 10th Congressional District of Virginia.
Treeborne smiled across the room and patted the air.
“Thank you. Thank you,” he bellowed, confidence radiating from every pore. “Tonight signifies a turning point for us all, not least myself.” Treeborne smiled smugly as the room cheered and howled with joy. “But seriously, folks, you’ve supported me. You’ve got me to this great moment, and I’ll see to it that everything you want and believe in will be made real. I will ensure that the values of this great country are upheld and that we will return to a time where we can hold our heads up high. Proud of our country. Proud of our heritage. Proud to be American. So help me God.”
The room descended into a crazy fervor on every word that fell from Treeborne’s lips.
Aswa-da laughed. If this was a book, he thought, he couldn’t have written Treeborne’s chapter better himself. Developments had taken a momentum of their own. Skipping forward, Aswa-da observed the next decade or so of Treeborne’s life. He served three two-year terms as Congressman. He’d created a strong name for himself in DC and found favor with many influential individuals, all of whom he eventually managed to control through his unique form of persuasion and manipulation.
During that time, Aswa-da noticed Treeborne had acquired a wife. She was born of old money. Respectable. Immaculate. Beautiful. The expected combination to secure Treeborne’s continued political ascendency.
In a hyper-exclusive, not-even-on-the-map club in DC, one of his billionaire industrialist friends turned to him. Knocking back a slug of bourbon and tearing his drunken eyes away from the nearly nude waitresses serving the dark, rose-hued room, he pulled Treeborne over to him.
“You know what, JD? You should run for Senate. It would be a breeze. I’d back you.”
Treeborne had already decided to make this change. But he was pleased his powerful friends had recognized his new potential.
Aswa-da moved forward in time to 2004 and Treeborne’s last term as Congressman. It was the year he prepared to make the leap to the Senate. New backers came in their droves. Fundraiser events poured funds into the coffers of the campaign office. People of power believed in Treeborne. White- and blue-collar workers believed in Treeborne. Mums, kids and teenagers believed in Treeborne.
They trusted him.
His message, ‘Trust in Treeborne’, became his political mantra. He was a man who knew instinctively what people wanted and what they needed, and he always delivered.
The trinity of abilities powered his success. In 2006, as Aswa-da shot forward, Treeborne took the crown to be Senator of Virginia. He served one stunning six-year term. Aswa-da could see his positioning was veering toward his end goal. Treeborne was in the fifth year of his term when he cozied up with the governor, and made his play.
“I’m going to run for the presidency. You’re going back me, aren’t you, George?” Treeborne eyed his friend, searching deep into his soul. “I mean, we’ve been mates for a long time. We’ve done a lot together, haven’t we?” Treeborne’s eyebrow rose. The governor sitting next to him shifted his significant bulk with more than a little discomfort.
“Yeah. Yeah. We sure have,” he replied. The governor’s craggy, charming face grew pensive and his eyes hooded as he recalled events he’d rather forget.
“Good times, eh? And more good times to come. Especially if I get in the White House. We can really rock and roll then. So what do you say? You’re behind me?”
Treeborne’s beady hawk eyes narrowed, searching for confirmation. His hand slipped into his pocket to touch the tablet.
Aswa-da realized that Treeborne had been able to perform his trinity of abilities for many years without much contact with the tablet. As he’d always believed, its powers were now intrinsically part of Treeborne’s internal makeup. The powerful resonating energies had intertwined within the nucleotides making up his DNA structural base. They had buried into the genes and chromosomes of each cell in his body.
He was, therefore, surprised by Treeborne’s need to revert back to using the tablet manually. Aswa-da pulled himself into the moment. In an instant, he was standing in front of Treeborne and his friend, Governor George Sanderson. Aswa-da examined the governor. He was a colossal guy, very handsome in a rugged way, with brown eyes that hid a slew of secrets.
The man was staring hard at Treeborne but his body language wasn’t responding in the correct way. Obviously, he was a powerful man and someone who had conviction and belief. Whatever he’d done in his past, Sanderson was now trying to distance himself from things that could be regarded as unsavory.
He wasn’t falling into Treeborne’s powers. Treeborne seemed to be holding back. Sanderson was a close friend. Perhaps Treeborne couldn’t break him the way he’d broken all his other ‘friends’.
Aswa-da was intrigued. How far would Treeborne go? Although he knew the outcome, it was how Treeborne reached it that was important. It confirmed his total immersion into the tablet’s powers and Aswa-da’s subsequent control of him.
As Aswa-da watched, Treeborne played his ace.
“Of course you are. You’ve no option. Have you? I mean, that time we…What was she? Fifteen? Fourteen?”
Sanderson swung a look at Treeborne. His handsome face began to crumble. His mouth turned down into a sad scowl displaying hatred of himself. His eyes flickered with disgrace. His huge shoulders slumped forward.
“She said she was eighteen,” said Sanderson, sotto voce, so only Treeborne could hear.
“Yeah. Like you really believed her,” responded Treeborne, digging into Sanderson’s humiliation and shame. “You barely asked the question before you-”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know.”
“So, anyway, that’s the past. But if we ever want to walk down memory lane, well, it’s all here at the press of a button.” Treeborne grabbed his phone, invoked his movie app and ran it on mute. He placed it on the table in front of them.
Sanderson’s face bled of color. A white mask took over him as his eyes glued to the activities on screen. His mouth pulled back into a stern line and he glared at Treeborne.
“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Sanderson hissed.
“Yep. I am. The police will never see this and you’ll never be charged with statutory rape. So we’re all good, aren’t we? And you’ll back me for the presidency, won’t you? You know having me in those hallowed halls will make a massive difference for you. Hell, I’m going to make the rest of your life a party!”
Treeborne bashed his friend on the back with more force than just a friendly hit of comradeship. Sanderson fell forward onto the table and faced the video still running on Treeborne’s phone, displaying his performance in explicit detail.
“Yeah. I’ll back you,” muttered Sanderson. Swallowing down his abhorrence, he pulled himself back onto the seat.
“Good move. The rest of your life as a party is so much better than it being in a prison cell!”
Treeborne grinned. He lent forward and took his phone, switching off the movie app. Then he pocketed it again.
Aswa-da nodded. Treeborne had stepped right over the line. Friends were just there to be used and abused. Loyalty was to be leveraged.
His transformation was complete. Treeborne’s soul was completely opaque.
Aswa-da pushed forward to 2013 whilst immersed in the Observation Screen. Treeborne had just been inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States of America. Aswa-da walked with him as he marched up the corridor to the Oval Office.
Treeborne stepped behind the grand desk, staring out at his people.
The Trusted Page 13