The Last President- The Complete Trilogy

by Christophe Martinolli

  Through the window on the top floor of the HQ, behind the Chinese shadows of the frolics, the presidential motorcade starts. He is followed by journalists on motorcycles. The clamour rises up to here and the two exhausted lovers laugh at the situation. It was the perfect moment. Amber's red lips swallow a sip of champagne and toast to victory.

  She got what she wanted.

  Dominique is now at his mercy.

  On the pavement, many unidentified people joined the journalists, who were quickly dismissed by the internal security services in a state of emergency. Erwan follows the president with a look that deigns to wave an arm to his fellow citizens, but his tense smile hides a certain seriousness. The sedan must reach the Place de la Concorde as soon as possible. The Republican Guard surrounds him and decides to take him through the park, which opens the Tuileries garden for him alone. The re-elected monarch turns around and glances at the black gates that close, trapping the horde of journalists on his heels. The man on the Left is draped in the Place de la Concorde, where the heads of the Kings of France have fallen, where the Right usually gathers. This last thumb of the nose has caused and will continue to cause a lot of bile and ink to flow.

  In the street in front of the HQ, where suddenly everything is depopulated, the tension has subsided.

  There's nothing left to see but dirty cotillion on the sidewalk.

  It's dark. It's hot. People are sweating because of the heat wave, which we have become accustomed to earlier and earlier in the year, even for an early May.

  Claire delicately takes Erwan's hand and devours him with a naughty look. The other effect of the hormones is to increase sexual desire tenfold. Since she can't confess her anxieties to him, she intends to relieve them with the best and most beautiful doctor.

  — Say, you surely know a place where we could be alone... Like at Sciences-Politics... Just the two of us... I want you, now, touch me...

  Chapter 4

  Place de la Concorde

  A bodyguard turns mechanically to the President and announces through his earpiece that they will be on site in five minutes. A compact crowd of screened and searched sympathizers awaits them there. Security's on the fritz. A savage counter-demonstration is marching in Rue de Rivoli, violent clashes have broken out at the Paris City Hall, despite the thousands of CRS mobilized. There's already a lot of breakage. We will have to move very quickly: there can only be half an hour on the stage, not a minute more. The President nods, does not speak, mute, nods his head and turns to his close adviser who does not chew a word either. This is the first time in the Fifth Republic that a counter-demonstration is organised in the second round, on the very evening of the election of a president. A spontaneous demonstration of course. Like all the others since he decided to ban demonstrations in Paris, through the Prefect. It was a turning point in his previous term. A woman set herself on fire in a motorcade. The Arab springs were inflamed by similar events. He knew that everything could change overnight, so precarious and unstable is the situation, which is conducive to a large-scale revolt. All the signals are red.

  The black coach is speeding through the park raising large volutes of dust.

  The Place de la Concorde is full to bursting point.

  The name of Laurent Terrier and the slogan "France! Rise up! Wake up!" in resonance with the protest movements that can be heard in the streets of the capital: "Paris! Rise and shine! Rise up!".

  The dark door of the presidential car opens. A compact, black mass of people instantly squeezes together. Very quickly the security guards, seasoned and trained for this type of large gathering, surround him and make his way through the crowd. The president's small size further accentuates this feeling of crushing, of suffocation. An armoured suitcase has been unfolded over his head to avoid possible projectiles, even if there are only hand-picked, docile and isolated sympathizers of his party here. His prominent comrades, the sexual partners of the campaign, are being pushed around, or receive involuntary shocks to their defending bodies. They're taking hits for the president. That's their job. The president rewards them generously for that, and for keeping them quiet. It's the price of suffering and silence. The lieutenants are completely choked by a tide of human flesh you can't fight. In the middle, protected, Laurent exults.

  Around President Laurent Terrier, the flashes crackle, a camera on board a drone follows him and offers France a beautiful image of an acclaimed candidate. These same drones, which the same president has banned above the demonstrations to minimise their visual impact, under the pretext of security and a state of emergency. Seen from above, the bodies are squeezed, compacted, anonymized by the mass, screaming, swarming, almost wild and animal. Soon, a word, only one, his own, balanced and reassuring, will emerge.

  The pack awaits its leader.

  The Alpha male.

  Chapter 5

  Somewhere in the anonymous crowd, a black leather-gloved hand puts on a small, sharp, metal device that is very discreet. The stranger, whom no one has seen perform this manipulation, manages to get close to the President, mingles with the bodyguards close enough to shout with the others "Long live the President!" and in a split second manages to touch his kidneys.

  President Terrier grins, a violent discharge has just stung his back, like a nasty insect bite. But the tide of human flesh still carries him. He tries to turn around, but nothing can stop him, he can only make out unknown faces screaming their happiness. Terrier is carried by the crowd and his bodyguards have seen nothing, have not noticed anything. He touches his lower back, grimace more and more, and then the pain passes as quickly as it came. Nothing to worry about, he even feels extremely better, and lucid, as if a veil had been removed in front of his eyes.

  He's smiling again, feeling good. The stage on the dais is there, full of his powerful allies who have made him king again. And who are waiting for him by chanting his name and clapping their hands. He'll know how to thank them. Terrier does what he does best, he always makes the same gesture before a public speech, he straightens his jacket, as if he were putting on heavy armour.

  That's where he feels he lives.

  But suddenly everything starts to revolve around him, he sees blurry and tries to keep control of his balance. His wife, who has figured out that something is wrong, speaks to him, but he is unable to understand a word she says. A counsellor always applauds him. In front of him, the crowd cheers, thousands of them. The counsellor congratulates him, but he doesn't notice anything, and he seems far away, too far away, distorted.

  He is the president of all French men and women, and dreams of one day forming the beautiful Europe of the United States. He will never see that dream. And he knows it at this very moment. He did not have time to say goodbye to his wife, his children, and his daughter who lives in Montreal. What will they think when they hear that their father is dead?

  Laurent feels his chest contract, as if his heart was being ripped out raw and falls backwards to the ground.

  The President's body lies motionless on the stage.

  Chapter 6

  Claire feels safe in Erwan's arms.

  He plunges his mouth into her neck, caressing the base of her hair, he knows it by heart. She hides her neck, because this part of her body is eroticized and gives her crazy sensations. If he nibbles her long enough, she is able to come without him doing anything else. She could slap him if he starts touching her here without her consent. But tonight she pulled up her hair, bare her neck for him and offers herself madly. She feels the firm hand of her lover running across her décolleté and slightly spreading the fabric to make her nipple tender. Erwan pinches the hardened end of her breasts and gently maintains the pressure by biting the nape of her neck like a small animal. Claire plunges her mouth into Erwan's lips.

  Suddenly, screams of horror echoed throughout the HQ. Erwan and Claire wonder what's going on, taken aback. In order not to be disturbed, they had turned off their cell phones, and tried to turn them back on while running to the door. Claire
hastily buttoned her cleavage and pulled out her long hair. Arriving in the great hall, they are stunned: the happy faces of the activists have been transformed into twisted faces of terror.

  Nobody talks anymore.

  The bodies are mute with fear.

  The news channels continue to broadcast the great mass, which has become a wake around the President's remains. A body of state, dead. The drone provides a bird's-eye view worthy of a Hollywood shot. The screenwriter would set the scene from the perspective of the deceased's soul watching the whole political circus around his own corpse.

  President Laurent Terrier is lying on the ground, he's not breathing. His relatives are there, at his bedside, the rescue team is there too. After a moment of great astonishment, the comments resume. Other shouts resound from the Rue de Rivoli. The multitude of CRS brigades has not managed to stem the flood of demonstrators that only the immense gates of the Park now prevent the rally dedicated to the victory of the President from breaking out. The news has not yet reached the procession, and the superimposition of the two images: the dead body of the president, and the procession, show a terrible scenario that only audiovisual icons can tell without the need for comment. By dint of writing on the walls "a felon elected, a bullet for traitors", the demonstrators got what they wanted. The President's skin. Shortcuts are easy, formulas are unwise, temptation too great. The place is historic, and it's been 229 years since another head of state lost his life on this square1 .

  That was the end of the monarchy.

  We now fear the fall of the Republic.

  Will Laurent Terrier be the last president of the Vth?

  As everyone watches the scene behind the security cordon, on his mobile phone, on his tablet, on television, a female silhouette, looking banal, jeans, and white shirt, closes his black leather jacket and quietly removes the poisoned metal tip from the black glove. She carefully puts it away in a small suitcase that she places in the stall of her motorcycle, and straddles the metal animal.

  The car starts, crosses the Concorde bridge, slows down and in the depths of the night, the Palais Bourbon is lit up.

  Tonight, France is hanging by a thread. It's the first time the President has suffered a heart attack during the Fifth Republic. Everything went very fast after that. The President of the Senate has been given the task of acting as required by Article 7(4) of the Constitution. His first act was to suspend the holding of the legislative elections that were to follow the presidential elections. The new Interim Head of State, Michèle Desrivières, has just made a lot of enemies, but her decision was validated by the Constitutional Council.

  She became the first woman President of the Republic.

  She is the ex-wife of the late Laurent Terrier.

  Chapter 7

  Monday 9th May

  Claire and Erwan's landline phone rings in the apartment, it must be their parents, because they are the only ones who use this number. But it's Erwan on the other end. Claire's cell phone was off.

  Erwan confirmed to him that it is indeed Michèle Desrivières who will lead France until new elections are held. The transfer of power took place last night, behind closed doors, with a bailiff and the Prime Minister. If the President does not wake up, Desrivières has a maximum of twenty to thirty days to organize the holding of new presidential elections.

  — Okay, that means I'm not going to see you at all... Announcing Claire sadly.

  — There's a chance yes...

  — I wouldn't call it luck, you didn't get to see about the baby's bodies.

  — …

  — So I took the lot.

  — Yes, I trust you completely, you're doing great.

  — I wish you could have been there. You promised me.

  — …

  — That's all, she reminded him dryly...

  Erwan doesn't answer, stutters a few more words and hangs up.

  Claire, feeling remorse as she walks through the baby's future room, calls him back immediately.

  — I'm sorry, honey, I'm acting like my mother, I'm so stupid.

  — That's okay... I'm on edge, too, and tired.

  — It's stupid, isn't it... Remember my graduation paper?

  — Yes, I thought about it this morning... Wasn't it something like "when the Speaker of the House takes over"?

  — In France, all coups d'état have been committed by presidents of assemblies, you know that. Look, this is preposterous, I know it's a cardiac accident, but I also had a bad feeling. Your instincts were right last night.

  — She's the president of the Senate, not the National Assembly. But I'm being careful, I promise. I'll be back late. Don't wait up for me.

  — Erwan?

  — What?

  — I love you. I love you.

  Chapter 8

  In the corridors of the Assembly, Ambre and Erwan found themselves in front of the mailboxes. Ambre is wearing a dark suit and a white blouse. She stood on black pumps, eight centimetres high, with a thin leather strap cutting into her feet. Erwan tightens her sky blue tie and readjusts her double-windsor.

  He doesn't like the climate here since the president died.

  — Amber, are you listening to me?

  — Yes... Here, take these keys and do me a favor please.

  Ambre has lent her small furnished two-room apartment on the 14th floor to some American friends who are leaving tomorrow. She won't be there to say goodbye and he has to take back the spare keys.

  — American friends? You've got to be kidding me. It's bed and breakfast. It's against the law.

  — Yes, American friends, so. Can you lend me your phone, too, please? Mine's completely flat, I don't understand what's going on, I charged it this morning...

  Erwan has work to do at the library, he gladly gives it up and doesn't want to be disturbed. She promises to give it back to him as soon as possible, she won't be long. She apologizes, and goes back to get an important file forgotten in Dominique's office.

  — Amber, wait, is Dominic okay with you?

  — Why don't you ask me if I'm okay with him...

  — He's got a bad reputation, I'm not gonna draw you a picture.

  — You worry too much, he's mine, and I've got him by the balls.

  — Charming! I don't wonder anymore how a distinguished young woman like you can be so vulgar...

  — No more than men do, and because men like it.

  — You know I don't like it when you lump us all together!

  — I am teasing you, but this is the Assembly, this is the lion's den, and all the wild beasts of France are gathered here in one place. Look at this one hasn't stopped staring at my ass since I walked in the hallway.

  — Someday that will change.

  — Yeah, I'm counting on it, too, but I'll leave you to it, "Scar" just walked out.

  In the empty corridors, however, the tension is palpable, the flat screens hanging on the walls give an account of the ongoing debate: they show Charles Bonvoisin, the leader of the far-right deputies, vociferating against the "institutional coup" of the President of the Senate who has decided to adjourn all parliamentary sessions of the Lower House. The President of the Assembly strikes a blow with a mallet and calls for silence: at the request of the Constitutional Council, new legislative elections will be held following the presidential elections.

  — The current parliamentary elections are therefore cancelled and postponed to a later date in view of the extraordinary situation we find ourselves in.

  The screams are violent, people get up, protest. We're adjourned. Absentee members are questioning in the Assembly refreshment bar.

  — As a result, our mandate is extended at least until September, the calendar does not allow people to vote in the middle of summer... The legislature will wait...

  — Whoever the newly elected president is, there is a good chance that he or she will use Article 19. France will be ungovernable this summer.

  — The executive and the legislature in one person... Are you ki
dding?

  — I expect everything. His ex-wife, former primary-school candidate, president... That's funny.

  — This is France, man!

  — What'll you have?

  — Pastis.

  — But it's only 10:00...

  — Already? Then a double pastis.

  Suddenly there's a rush. Everybody's getting out of the chamber at the same time. Erwan is even pushed around by parliamentarians who do not pay attention to him. He walks alone towards the large library while the crowd of politicians is gradually diluted in the corridors.

  Ambre's looking for a file in deputy Dominique Pelletier's office. While walking through the silent office, she notices that the phone is not properly hung up. As she prepares to put it back on her base, she hears a familiar voice. Driven by childish curiosity, she begins to listen. It is Dominique's voice in the adjoining office. Ambre smiles and wants to hang up, but stops short when he starts talking about her to one of his colleagues. She wants to know what this pig is saying about her.

  — With Ambre, I don't know, it's different, she's not from the previous generation, she's a fucking chick, she takes care of everything.