The Last President- The Complete Trilogy

by Christophe Martinolli

  — Okay, and I show up like a flower, and the Desrivières staff takes me in, right?

  — That's almost right, we made sure you got an invitation. It's tonight, at Michèle's headquarters, the location of which has not yet been revealed. You'll receive a notification on your mobile, with the app you downloaded we'll track you, it's unbeatable.

  — Are you sure? If I get caught with encrypted software, I'm going straight to jail! Or worse!

  — Yes, it's safe, it's Israeli technology, they're the best. Our support is international, the British are following us too... But please, don't ask me too many questions. The less you know, the better. You'll get further instructions in due time.

  — Okay.

  — You'll see him again, I swear.

  — Did you see him again?

  — No, but I have news, and he knows you're in Paris.

  — Where is he?

  — I can't tell you.

  — Okay, I'm scared. Am I allowed to be scared?

  — I know, but I trust you. Do it for Lana, do it for Benedict. I called him, told him I needed another week of help when I got home.

  — You called Benedict?!

  — Yes, he's very nice, really.

  — That's why I want to keep it.

  — You'll see him again, too, I swear. Everything's going to be okay.

  Chapter 10

  It's three o'clock already. Claire has walked several kilometres to the capital after this morning's meeting. A way to reclaim the city. A strange feeling that makes her feel like a stranger in her hometown: everything has changed, and nothing has changed. She had lunch in a brewery, ordered an Italian Burger with a fresh tomato, basil leaves, melted mozzarella, and drank a Coca-Dry. And in the street across the street, the Bourbon Palace, where it all began, guarded day and night by the Republican Guard, with sandbags, sniffer dogs and army tanks. She has the look of the chic and casual Parisian: brand new Adidas sneakers, tight blue jeans, and a small, light white shirt. Claire has an appointment with her former hairdresser.

  Mathilde recognizes her immediately. She knows the people in the neighborhood well, here it's fear that prevails. She had to install a special film on her window so that it doesn't explode, just in case...

  She laments that few people like Claire don't take the country into their own hands. She has the impression that only the rottenest people remained in power after the death of President Laurent Terrier. She didn't like him very much, but the terror that followed was even worse. She said to herself, like everyone else, that it could never happen: that the world would not let it happen! And yet... no one moved. What does she think of Michèle Desrivières? The only woman in a government of men. She stood her ground. It's a good thing she's here. She'll vote for her, that's for sure.

  — That way, everything will go back to the way it was.

  Claire nods, this is not the time to publicly display any hostility. She is aware of the immense credit that the French people give her, as real-time polls show. It is more than twenty-five percent. The two oppositions have had their heads chopped off, and all the cadres have already left for her during the transitional and coalition government. Its only opponent is the extreme right, and the left has also been emptied of its substance. Michèle has succeeded in the tour de force: those who are against her are against eternal France, which she dreams of seeing restored after the purge and the division into districts. It was through this means that she avoided the Revolution, because the French were neither prepared nor united. The popular strata and the small owners did not unite against the one percent. Nevertheless, the revolt and insurrection was violent. The building of the Keeper of the Seals burned down in part, as well as the Palais de la Bourse. Paris still bears the scars of the dark period, when everything almost collapsed on the famous night of October 5 at four forty. The main leaders of the protest were arrested. There were thousands of searches and house arrests with electronic bracelets in the week that followed. What will happen when she denounces Michèle? Claire can't stop thinking about Erwan. She's holding on to that idea. If she doesn't, she'll never see him again. She can't live with her new husband, in the lie of knowing he's alive somewhere, without having tried anything to save him. Will she go back to him? She doesn't know yet. She's afraid, afraid of everything, afraid of failing, afraid of succeeding.

  Claire's going back to the hotel. Her phone should be vibrating at any moment, receiving the invitation email to meet the woman by whom none of this would have happened. She'll be as close to evil as she can get. Her heart is racing just to get into it. She needs to relax, right now, right now. It's a primal need. The need to recharge, the one that comes up from below and she recognizes as a friend.

  Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. She's not expecting anyone and room service has already been here. By instinct, she grabs her electric toothbrush, blows her head off and intends to use it as a formidable weapon if it is aimed at her carotid artery. No one at the airport noticed that she had sharpened the metal tip. Knock on the door, harder. Claire decides to answer it.

  It's her uncle.

  — What the hell are you doing, Claire, open up.

  — Eugene? Come on in!

  — Thank you, I was told you were coming. I have less than five minutes to explain everything. The appointment is announced: you will be picked up at half past nine, evening wear required, for a still secret address. You will play a role. Do you remember how long ago it was?

  Claire smiles, because she dreamed, as a little girl, of becoming an actress.

  — You will have to do everything you can to help your worst enemy as best you can, and try to unmask her at the slightest misstep for high treason.

  — Okay, that I already know. But how do you know that?

  The task seems titanic.

  — Don't do like the others, the ones around her, the obsequious and submissive ones. Don't imitate them, pretend they don't exist. You have to surprise her, all the time. She loves it. She must feel resistance, otherwise she'll ignore you and you'll never be part of the first circle. That would be a failure of your mission. Look into her eyes, never look down when she stares at you, never blink, wait for her to do it.

  — Okay, got it.

  — Now you just blinked. Watch the wrinkle between your eyebrows, don't be too severe. She needs to feel confident, with inner strength, with no holds barred. You've got it in you. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Okay, you've got it. Don't let go of that look. You've got it. You're gonna eat it.

  — Thank you, uncle.

  — Don't smile too much. Just the right corner. There, that's perfect. Put one foot forward, always when you have it in front of you, the left one. There you go.

  — I feel like I'm doing judo.

  — It's a fight. It's body language. Don't forget, she'll judge you in a minute. If you're good at the second minute and she's already gone, it's too late. You have to get in her face right now.

  — Okay, got it.

  — Now I have to go.

  — That's it? That's it?

  — I'm not going to teach you your job, the rest you can do better than anyone else. I believe in you, my niece.

  — Thank you. Thank you.

  — We should get together more often. We're idiots. Humans are jerks. I'm not teaching you anything.

  — I didn't know you... you were on our side.

  — There's a lot you don't know about me. But it's better, take my word for it. I wasn't always clean. Politics has turned my brain. I'm doing what I can to correct my mistakes. Goodbye, Claire.

  — Goodbye, now.

  Claire is definitely alone right now. She needs to be with herself, to feel whole.

  Chapter 11

  When she was a teenager, at the age of seventeen, she had a serious bicycle accident. In the country, she had borrowed her father's racing bicycle. On the hot road, intoxicated by the speed, the girlfriend in front that had to be caught, she had not seen the irregular gully th
at set a fearsome trap for her.

  The front wheel bent to the center and the bike made a sun. Claire was thrown onto the hot asphalt. She got up, but her body was screaming in pain.

  She woke up a week later in the hospital from an induced coma.

  It was during the period of re-education that Claire reconciled with her body that was hurting her so much. It was also at this time that she discovered the caresses, her own.

  Doing good for yourself, for yourself, that selfish pleasure has never left her. It had taken this serious accident for her to reconcile herself with her body, which she found deformed at the time, and to accept that it would give her pleasure in return.

  It's also a great way to relieve stress. Claire lies down comfortably in the large bed, breathing calmly and deeply. She closes her eyes to bring her mind in line with her own body. Claire rubs both her legs together, triggering the signal to her brain that a wave of pleasure is about to pass through her. She slowly unbuttons her white shirt and runs across her taut chest, sits down, unzips her bra and undresses.

  Feeling like yourself.

  She takes off her jeans and panties all at once. It's the surest path to ecstasy and oblivion. Her skillful fingers give her everything she needs and her body offers her divine reward. For more than twenty years she has been doing this in secret, she has never said anything to anyone except Erwan.

  She savours the long minutes of deserved relaxation, of pleasure that she has learned to disconnect from guilt.

  Claire feels ready and runs her lips with her red lipstick, her black evening gown and her pumps. Tonight she has a date with Erwan. At least that's what she tells herself and it will be a first step to find him.

  There's a sedan with a driver waiting for him downstairs. The driver isn't very talkative, rather handsome. He doesn't tell him where the secret place is until the end.

  She lets herself be driven.

  The suspense is not without displeasure: she has always loved surprises when others hate them. Now she understands better why Pierre and Eugene told her about the game. She has to act, get caught up in the game, forget about the stakes and run without a net. She has stage fright, but this feeling doesn't inhibit her, quite the contrary. It galvanizes her. Tonight, she won't be herself for everyone she meets. Tonight, it is Claire the warrior, the fighter, the activist for Michèle Desrivières, the one who is ready to do anything to achieve her ends, who has a crazy ambition and a thirst for power. The sedan goes through several checkpoints without even stopping. Freedom is now only given to a small, restricted circle of people and she's one of them. That's absolute luxury. Freedom of movement has become a luxury, just like privacy. The sedan slows down, passes armed soldiers armed to the teeth and stops in front of a red carpet. The Field Headquarters is a former printing house in the 5th arrondissement of Paris, completely rebuilt, skillfully blending industrial style with today's sober technology. An atmosphere of metal and exotic wood, which breathes new. Claire greets her driver briefly, and puts her black heel on the purple velvet. She is astonished, there are a lot of young people. Where are the old hands in politics who used to make sexist jokes a few years ago and who would only have stared at her buttocks or cleavage all evening with a twinkle in their eyes? She would even look older than the others, fortunately her youthful, thin face makes her look ten years younger. Suddenly, a beautiful black-skinned girl comes looking for her, shakes her hand and leads her across the great hall. Maybe they're further away, in another room, and that's where they take her, to the bear pit.

  But no, the girl takes her to the bar.

  — Just relax here for a moment, she's been notified, she'll be here any minute.

  The girl leaves her with a wink of her eye.

  Claire instantly feels dozens of glances on her, more or less discreet, curious. They are all young, between twenty and thirty years old, beautiful, mixed race and immersed in a subdued light. Apart from the posters and faces of Michèle Desrivières on the walls, there is nothing here to indicate that we are in the headquarters of an unprecedented election campaign. There are leather sofas, all the youth of Paris, cocktails, luxury clothes, in a relaxed and lounge atmosphere. A young man with half-long hair comes to approach her alone and offers her a glass of the best vintage brut champagne.

  — Good evening, Claire.

  — Excuse me? Do I know you?

  — You don't, but I do. You came to give a lecture at Sciences Po Paris on the political lottery. I was impressed.

  — But that was at least ten years ago?

  — Exactly eight years ago, you caused a sensation among my male friends.

  — Put that glass down, will you, you're on a slippery slope.

  — I want you to know that I look forward to working together. Here you are very much appreciated. Michèle always makes the right choices. "La France devant"!

  — France ahead!

  The young man goes back and blends in. Claire can't stop smiling.

  Was she like this ten years ago? Or has the world changed too fast? For a moment she felt unsettled, then she remembered what her uncle said.

  Stay in control, all the time.

  Exactly, the girl who took her in is coming back.

  — Claire, if you'll follow me.

  The young activist takes him to an empty office a little way away and asks him to wait: just a few minutes, with his champagne flute in his hand.

  Chapter 12

  Suddenly, without warning, Claire smells a musky perfume filling the room.

  It was her, there, standing upright, in the doorway. Michèle Desrivières had just arrived in the office.

  — Leave us alone," she says dryly to her colleagues.

  — All right, ma'am, nod without flinching at her bodyguard.

  Her wax face wrinkles instantly.

  — Good evening Claire!

  — Good evening, Mrs. Desrivières.

  — Call me Michèle, I'm looking forward to seeing you here. You know how painful the memory of your husband is. And to have you on my team is a joy and an honor. I need the experience of people like you.

  — My husband would have wanted to be in that position. He always served his country faithfully.

  — Are you doing this for yourself too?

  — Of course, my maternity was only temporary, and you know how much I fought for women's rights with Minister Sebban.

  — Good, that's exactly what I expect you to do. You will join the Riposte team as agreed with my services but... I want you to be close to me personally. You will head the gender equality commission.

  — Yes, Madam President.

  — Who's taking care of the kids?

  — My husband, Benedict.

  — A good man, give him a kiss from me.

  Michèle Desrivières comes out of the small office and disappears into the corridors. The girl comes back to get Claire.

  — Congratulations!

  — It was short.

  — Did you find out? She likes you a lot, she doesn't do that with everyone...

  — Then I'll take that as a token of my appreciation.

  — Can I introduce you to the rest of the team?

  — Hold on, I have to make an important phone call.

  — All right, take your time, tonight we're celebrating!

  — Where are all the government officials? Where are the deputies, the senators, I don't see anyone.

  — It's still early, they'll arrive later. And that's not quite true, there's the Keeper of the Seals Thierry Costa who has just arrived, and the former Minister for European Affairs has already been here for an hour...

  — All right... where can I smoke a cigarette and make a phone call... private?

  The girl smiles.

  — Come on, follow me, we're going up to the roof.

  — Thank you, you're great, I didn't catch your name.

  — Oumou.

  — Thank you Oumou, there was too much noise when I arrived, I didn't hear you properly, I
follow you.

  Claire and Oumou go through a first security lock, and Oumou's pass takes them through two more swing doors protected by Homeland Security agents. After a long and interminable race through the corridors, then several flights of stairs, the two women finally arrive on the roof.

  The view of Paris is breathtaking.

  It's twenty-two o'clock on the dot. The Eiffel Tower starts to sparkle.

  — What a sense of timing!

  — It's a moment of synchronicity like I like them, those moments that make you in the right place at the right time...

  — I couldn't have put it better myself! I'll leave you, you'll find your way back?

  — Yes, thank you Oumou, see you later.

  Claire takes out her pack of cigarettes, she hasn't smoked since Erwan died. Too bad, she'll pretend... And no, she wants to after all. Acting doesn't prevent her from enjoying herself... She wants to enjoy this moment. The lighter sparks, the tobacco blushes, the first latte. On the other hand, she calls out to Benedict.

  The ringtones are peeling.

  Mailbox.

  — Honey, I miss you. Everything's gonna be okay. I'm thinking about...

  Suddenly, Claire loses her balance.

  The whole roof of the building starts shaking. She's pinned to the ground.

  A powerful bomb just went off two floors down.

  Chapter 13

  Claire is unconscious, but alive. Her body is still lying on the ground, facing the still warm concrete of the roof of the building. Smells of gunpowder and burning flesh wake her up. It's unbearable.

  The sirens of the city of Paris begin to howl, one after the other. Like an epidemic spreading. The nightmare continues, and this time it is in the midst of turmoil.