The Last President- The Complete Trilogy

by Christophe Martinolli

  The spy tries to calm his colleague.

  — No, I won't calm down! We've travelled thousands of miles to find her, we've risked the lives of three men to watch her suck her husband off in the open air while others die, but fuck you!

  The spy comes out slamming the door. Quiet, please.

  — We were hoping that Erwan's message might convince you. Excuse her, we're at the end of our rope, we can't take it anymore, and we don't have much left.

  — If I do it, it's for my daughter.

  — Do it for whoever you want, just do it.

  — My daughter needs to see her real father. But tell her I'm never going back to him. This is all her fault.

  — Don't take the wrong target, it's Michèle you need to take down, not Erwan.

  — Now get out of my way. I don't want to see you again.

  — That's not our intention either.

  — And don't follow me, I do what I want with my husband. If I have the slightest suspicion, I'll drop everything, you hear me?

  — All right, then.

  — Who will be my contact?

  — You already know him.

  — Who's that? I don't know anyone anymore.

  — Pierre.

  — What?

  — The cardiac event is a diversion, so as not to focus on him, we lend less force to the patients. I must admit, he was a pretty good actor...

  Chapter 6

  Claire goes into the family home. Theophilus calls out to her.

  — Everything okay with the vacationers? I heard screaming, and I saw the woman come out screaming.

  — Nothing, she thought she saw bedbugs.

  — Okay, here, you got this. I heard it's urgent.

  — Thank you. Thank you.

  Claire's opening a small package. It is a scarlet level pass, the highest level possible in a state of emergency. It allows you to travel without having to declare your trip three months in advance. Travelling by plane, train or car has become very complicated since the declaration of a permanent state of emergency and the placing under NATO's military tutelage. Going out of the regions is now equivalent to applying for a visa for the United States during the Trump period. The next notch, France will be divided into districts where only goods will be able to move freely, and this is obviously what Michèle Desrivières is preparing, all this under applause and democratic vote. Raphaëlle Bertier, candidate of the VIth Republic and collectivist, has no reserve of votes, but she will be in the second round. The only one running against her on the right has practically no chance, and he has hardly ever lived in France, he is a pure product of world finance. That's perhaps the funniest and most cynical thing. In order to be able to restore a sham of democracy, we are going to put in power the person who has locked up all the institutions, and the permanent state of emergency. Michèle is an offshoot of the Bilderberg group, inducted very early on by the Atlantic consortium, and she is being pitted against a weaker candidate who is being blamed for her filiation to Bilderberg! Yes, there are people who, for obscure reasons, knowingly accept to serve as fuse, jack, puppet, because their cause is beyond them... and they are handsomely rewarded for it. But in this particular case, it's even more incredible, we spit on him because he comes from a world that is rightly responsible for the country's ills, and we're going to put another person from that same milieu thinking that this is going to solve the problem. Elections by direct universal suffrage, with three rounds of voting, are4 the best invention ever made to bring the plutocracy in disguise into a democracy.

  But it's good for everyone in the end, we always think that there are worse things than us, and that someone will do the job for us... And that's why we're ready to accept anything. Except that today Claire accepts this mission for a simple reason: to give back a father to her daughter Lana who was deprived of one, and to give back her colors and unity to her country, France, capable of the worst as well as the best. To do this, she will have to accept to work with dissident secret services, new Resistance fighters, terrorists in the strict sense of the term...

  Claire is in danger of losing everything, but deep down she knows very well, by putting her things in a small suitcase, that her heart started beating when she saw him again. Him, Erwan, her first love. What should she do? Live a lie and compromise the rest of her life? Fight the state and risk losing everything? The old and the new husband, her whole life, her children, because she considers Theophilus her own? Only she can find Erwan and make the truth come out, to bring Michèle before the High Court of Justice, the last democratic bulwark... But for how long? And what about Erwan, if she finds him? Who says she won't go back to him? And Benedict, whom she loves like crazy too? He doesn't deserve that. This impossible equation, this insoluble tension, first plunges her into a state of torpor.

  Then, Claire, determined, announces her departure for Paris to her children. She will leave this evening, after a last dinner with Benedict.

  — I hope Pierre will be all right.

  — Yeah, I'll let you know.

  — Take care of yourself, especially.

  — I promise you that.

  — You know what?

  — What?

  — I love you. I love you.

  — I love you too, I'll think about you very, very much. I'll be back soon.

  Chapter 7

  During the day, two prefectures in metropolitan France and one overseas suffered terrorist attacks by political activists. Benedict blames the blow when he learns that Claire is finally leaving for a week, perhaps more than the three days planned. But he understands, she must go to the bedside of Pierre, he is dying: his condition deteriorated during the night. The capital has been under very high tension since the renewed attacks of the last few days. For a year, sandbags and checkpoints have marked the City of Light, and a curfew has been established from midnight thirty with the last metro as during the darkest hours in the history of France. Claire's pass authorizes her to go everywhere, it will be her sesame. She knows very well that she won't stay only one week, and this first lie to Benedict tortures her. What about the others? Benedict helps her finish packing her suitcase, which she plans to be very small so that she doesn't have to wait at the airport.

  She almost forgot her electric toothbrush.

  Benedict plunges himself into Claire's neck, and goes to seek comfort there.

  — You don't smell the same, you're worried, it's been a long time since I smelled that in your house.

  — Going back to Paris... seeing those streets again, it'll remind me of Erwan, my life before. That's why I'm a little stressed. I'd be afraid to see him appearing on every street corner.

  — Focus, meditate, you know how to do that. And call me, as often as you can.

  — All right. All right, all right.

  — And remember, I love you.

  — I love you too, don't ever forget it, ever, you hear?

  — No, I swear. Come on, get out of here before I take you in, your cab's here.

  Claire gives a warm kiss to Lana, and Theophilus.

  Claire, go away, in the night. Will she ever see this haven again?

  — Come on ma'am, we're in a hurry, there are four checkpoints to cross before curfew.

  — And this will make it go faster?

  She shows the driver her scarlet pass.

  — With this I'll be in Paris in six hours, Madame!

  — Just take me to Nice airport.

  On the way, hardly anyone drives anymore. The checkpoints go smoothly, the policemen are even obsequious when they see the colour of sesame. One of them even offers to go with him on his motorbike and opens the road for him, all sirens blaring. Suddenly, a flashing light illuminates the night sky as they approach the airport. It's an autonomous cargo postal drone.

  — Damn flying drones are taking our jobs. Goddamn fucking robots!

  — Robots, you've got a car full of them, and you can let go of the wheel if you want to...

  — No, I like to drive, th
at's the way it is.

  — It's your choice, it's also the choice of those who don't want to. That's what democracy is all about, isn't it?

  — Democracy? It died when our good Lorenzo Terrier collapsed on Concord. I'm sure it's a conspiracy, everyone knows it! Look at these billionaire bastards, how many are there... 14 of them? Nothing changes for them, they fly over everything, and look down on us... well not you, I guess with a pass like that, you're lucky.

  — I don't think so...

  — We're here, give me your arm.

  She stretches out her arm and the integrated chip in her hand regulates the stroke without contact. She even leaves him an extra tip.

  — Take care of them," says Claire, looking at the background of the sedan, with the driver's family, his wife and two children.

  — Yes, my wife is no longer with us, we all lost someone in the uprising...

  Chapter 8

  The speed of the taxi and the quick check-in reserved for VIPs means that Claire has more than half an hour to wait at Terminal 2 of Nice International Airport. She takes the last shuttle flight of the day, and flips through a comic strip, Seul Survivant, and is surprised to see that the bookseller has no shortage of humour selling here an old story of a plane crash. Suddenly, her name resounds within the Terminal. Priority passengers are called in advance. There are only three of them, two men precede her. Maybe one of them arrived in a drone, he wears a custom-made Armys suit, and by the look of his accessories, there is more on him than in Claire's bank account... Feeling spied on by a pretty woman, the man dares a carnivorous smile with white teeth, but Claire has never been attracted by these dominant males. The check-in goes smoothly, the rest of the rare passengers board, the plane finally takes off from the runway. On the left wing, Claire sees the white lights of the Promenade des Anglais. At this altitude, everything is peaceful. One cannot guess that the quietness of the tourists and the people of Nice has turned into a permanent worry. She wears to her ears the headphones of her mobile phone: One Thing by Dave Gahan resounds in the night and the starry sky, without clouds.

  We're bringing him tomato juice and saltines.

  Seen from above, France is also so calm. Who would say that below, the insurrection has reshuffled the maps of all the city centers? Yes, there's a man with a gun on the plane, yes, it's more complicated to travel, but the countryside, which makes up more than ninety percent of the territory, is spared by the hardening of the Regime.

  Claire will soon realize that Paris, on the other hand, has changed.

  The plane lands at Orly airport. On the tarmac, military personnel on duty watch the runways. The tension is immediately palpable.

  The temperature is nineteen degrees Celsius on the ground, it's nice. Nice and dark.

  Claire's comfortable shoes tread the catwalk, and her little suitcase rolls smoothly to the taxi counter. The Orlyval hasn't been in use since it jumped a year ago and is still under construction.

  It is too late to visit Pierre, who is hospitalized in a room at Percy, with the military and government officials. She will go directly to his hotel, a luxurious establishment. This four-star hotel was breaking the prices, since the massive defection of foreign tourists: we might as well take advantage of it, said Claire, who never hid her penchant for luxury and beautiful things.

  She is received like a princess, and her suitcase is carried to her huge bedroom. She had not asked for such a large room, but it seems that upgrading is also part of the hidden privileges of the scarlet sesame bearers. One only had to see the face of the concierge Clefs d'Or when she approached him.

  Claire doesn't feel tired, turns on the TV in the wall and asks for the latest news. Michèle Desrivières is always very high in the real-time polls. She should announce the composition of her campaign staff in the coming weeks. Claire runs herself a hot water bath and puts some smelling salts in it.

  How quiet it is, too, surely.

  She decides to call Benedict, as promised. She tells him about the streets of Paris, empty, sandbags everywhere, the soldiers on duty in the city, the incessant patrols of the CRS, all sirens screaming. It is a besieged capital, tagged at night with anti-state of emergency slogans for the liberation of Paris, and repainted by day. She doesn't tell him that his taxi has crossed the remains of a wild demonstration, that the taxi is armored and reinforced because the driver has already taken molotov cocktails on his body... No, she doesn't tell him either that all the streets remind her of Erwan, that she was wondering at every moment if he wasn't going to appear, if some "resistants" were not going to force her down to take her to see him in a damp cellar, but nothing. She told him simply and sincerely, that she loves him, that she would like to share this beautiful room with him, that she misses him, that she would like him to kiss her.

  Benedict laughs, but he's embarrassed. He always laughs when he's embarrassed. Erwan could not help smiling.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as she hangs up, there's a knock on her bedroom door. Probably room service, she's starving. They serve her dinner on a silver platter. The waiter also gives her a ticket.

  — A man at the bar gave it to me for you.

  Would you take her for an escort? It's no longer common in France for a woman to travel alone? At first offended, she opens her letter and sees an instruction: download Transpac 2.0. Never heard of this application. So be it. Claire runs, it's an encrypted messaging software that doesn't appear in the Store's list. It also does not appear in the list of downloaded applications, it allows you to encrypt the phone itself. The phone suddenly starts vibrating. It's his friend Pierre.

  — Claire, I'm sorry about this mess.

  — Not as much as me... where are you old fox?

  — I see you haven't lost your sense of humor, that's something. I'm still at Percy with accomplices. Look, I'm officially getting out tomorrow. Meet me at my apartment in Sèvres, remember my bachelor pad?

  — You're still using it at your age?

  — No, but I use it as a storage room, and it'll be quiet there, I never declared it. It's in the name of a dummy cleaning company.

  — Yes, there's some cleaning up to do...

  — Tomorrow, ten o'clock.

  — I'll bring the croissants from the Boul'Ange.

  — I love you, Claire, if I were 30 years younger...

  — I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. I'll see you tomorrow.

  Claire dives into her hot bath, her meal will wait. She has liked to eat cold since she was a little girl. Her parents were going crazy.

  The next day, at ten o'clock, there she is in front of Pierre's old bachelor flat. Not that she had used it with him, but as a former parliamentary assistant, she had to know everything. Claire put on her black leather boots, a skirt and black tights. She braided her long brown hair and wore a silk scarf. Her little mustard suede jacket makes her look younger. Pierre is late, and Claire doesn't like to wait. But she goes into the small private alleyway, under the discreet gaze of the concierge who is as old as her building. She was already there, twenty years ago... Some people cling to life more than others. Here time doesn't seem to pass normally, nothing has changed, neither the smell of the kitchen nor the black cats who are here at home. Suddenly a car stops, it's Pierre getting out of his taxi. She forgives him when she rediscovers him, standing on a cane, moving steadily but slowly.

  — Claire, it's good to see you. Come in, quick, you weren't followed?

  — How should I know that? I've been spied on for years, and I didn't realize a thing!

  — Shhh, don't talk so loud, the walls are listening, come on, come on, it's this way. Let me find my keys. Yeah, that's okay.

  The unlikely couple enters an old studio on the first floor. The place is very small, but not lacking in charm. Pictures of Pierre, forty years younger, show a handsome, sporty and well-made man, sure of himself when he was part of the Fifteen of the Assembly. A bygone era. Pierre is as round as a billiard ball. Claire hasn't forgotten the cr
oissants, and he tries to get the coffee machine working, in vain.

  — Don't break your head, that's not why we're here.

  — So, listen, by tonight at the latest, you'll be on Michèle's campaign team.

  — What?! And you're just telling me this out of the blue.

  — But I'm warning you.

  — No, but no shit, that's all you found? And how do I do that?

  — They have launched numerical requests to recruit in the "Riposte" team. I'm not telling you anything, this is the team that handles conflict within its campaign staff. You'd already done it for Laurent, remember, you were the best.

  — But that's just it, they're going to remember, and I didn't run!

  — Yes, we've raised your Twitter account, you're a strong supporter of Michèle and you're going to fight for the restoration of order.

  — But Michèle knows that I'm Erwan's wife, it'll never happen!

  — You're wrong about that, and she's gonna need your skills. Remember, Erwan is officially dead to the Republic, and your rallying will be seen by his third circle as proof of your probity. She has to keep thinking she's the one manipulating you. Erwan risked everything to get that evidence out of the country. That evidence never disappeared. It was double-crossed by Le Monde, who hid it in a safe in Switzerland, in an offshore account. Only Erwan and this journalist have access, but as long as Michèle remains in power, it is impossible to get the truth out and be heard. Americans and Germans from the Bilderberg group are ready to help us when the time comes. Some of them are already doing so, your Twitter timeline proves it. Don't believe as you do on the internet that Bilderberg is manipulating everyone and that they've been calculating everything from the beginning. They didn't expect her not to return power, and they didn't measure her aura with the generals properly. They made a big tactical mistake and are counting on us to fix it.