Warmonger

by Monique Singleton

  There is one small detail that could give me away. For some strange reason, I cannot fully change your perception of my eye colour. My ochre eyes are strange to start with, strange and striking. I manage to camouflage them a bit by adding brown to the colour scheme, but one way or the other, the ochre still comes through, making them notable. I have to take that into consideration. Make sure that people who see different versions of me don’t focus on the eyes.

  I’ve started cultivating my identity as a priest. Hacking into the Vatican databases—it’s not as difficult as it seems if you have the right connections, and I do—I’ve planted the identities. I am two different French priests, Father Benedict, a modest man raised in Provence, and the other, a conservative but influential priest with more than thirty-eight years of experience in small and large parishes throughout France. I even squeezed in some missionary work in New Guinea just to make it look authentic. This priest, Father Julien, is on a new kind of mission to support the French Presidential court. I have managed to get Father Julien a posting to the inner circle of Armand Duval, the newly-inaugurated President of France, a closet fascist, narcissist and megalomaniac.

  Funny, really, how all the right-wing groups need to validate their actions and expressions by means of the Christian religion. They are fiercely religious to a fault, one of the reasons why I chose this identity. Their illusions of grandeur and righteousness will allow me to get close. Close enough to be able to influence the decisions that are made. Close enough to work my magic.

  Going directly to the President is too obvious. It will probably get me in trouble. The segregation of power between politics and the church is a fiercely guarded constitutional base. Not that I am worried for my safety, the same talents that get me inside can also get me out. But still I need a less conspicuous way in which to achieve my goals.

  The best way to get to a man in power is through his women.

  And Armand Duval has more than his share.

  That is where I will concentrate my efforts.

  ‘It’s time you finally amount to something.’ Natalie’s mother was being her normal charming self.

  After an age of abuse, you would think that she was used to it, but her mother’s words still cut to the bone. All she wanted was for her parents to be proud of her. Like they were of her brothers Mathis and Clement, even of her elder sister Marie. All of them were successful. All contribute immensely to their family fortune and status.

  And status was everything for Lilou and Evan Beaulieu. As descendants of an aristocratic line traceable to before the French Revolution, they had rebuilt the family name. The family reputation had reached rock bottom after Evan’s father had so recklessly squandered every penny his forefathers had amassed. The philandering ancestor was most commonly known for his gambling addiction and his many scandalous affairs. Evan was determined to reinstate the old family status and fortune, and better still, to bring it to unknown heights. One of the goals he and his wife had was the Presidency. Clement was being groomed to fill that lofty seat in the future. For that objective, both Clement and Marie had married into politically influential families. Mathis was rapidly moving up the military ladder, destined to be a top decision maker, the Maréchal de France, another immensely influential position.

  And then there was Natalie. She had not amounted to anything, at least not according to her parents. After her Master Degree in Politics, another choice her parents had made for her, she graduated top of the class, and worked for the United Nations, much to her parents’ disapproval.

  They wanted her to use her knowledge and skills to help Clement’s career. He was, after all, the chosen one.

  All she wanted at that time was to be geographically as far away from her family as possible. She loved it at the UN, and finally felt she was able to come into her own.

  It was, however, short-lived. As a deeply religious woman, she was brought up to respect her parents and their wishes. She buckled under the relentless pressure and attended the job interview that her mother had organised for her in President Armand’s organisation. Naturally she got the job—though more because of her beauty than her brains.

  And now the cat was out of the bag— Mother’s plan.

  ‘You will do what we ask,’ her mother continued.

  ‘How can I, mother? It’s a sin. The man is married,’ she countered.

  ‘Everyone knows that the marriage is a sham. The first lady is gay, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Please Maman, no profanity.’

  ‘Oh, get off your high horse.’ Lilou did not share her daughter’s religious beliefs. Her only interest was herself and her family’s honour.

  ‘You will do what I say.’

  ‘I will not seduce the man.’ Natalie was adamant. ‘It is a sin. I will not do it.’

  Her mother was silent. She needed more than words here. She walked over to her daughter, stared her in the eye, grabbed her arms and forcefully sat her down on the sofa. In almost a whisper she continued, ‘You will do what I say.’ She paused for effect. ‘You will take the job that your father and I organised for you, and you will seduce the President. If you don’t we will ostracise you. We will make sure that you never get another job, never marry and that God himself turns his back on you.’

  Natalie visibly cringed under the barrage. She had no doubts that her mother was fully capable of delivering on her threats. Maybe not the God part, but she was able to have Natalie ostracised from her church. That she was sure of. Her mother had connections.

  Her faith was her only support. Her family she could probably live without. Without her faith, she was nothing.

  As always, her mother knew just how to get to her and milk that advantage to the maximum. She could feel herself fold under the relentless gaze of the older woman. She would do it, even if it conflicted with almost everything she believed in.

  ‘I don’t even like the man,’ she tried almost pathetically, her body language already revealing that Lilou had won.

  ‘What does that have to do with it?’ her mother answered. ‘Love is a scam, an illusion at best. The sooner you get that nonsense out of your system, the further you will get on in life.’ So typically Lilou, so completely devoid of any compassion. ‘Love is for the foolish. Not for us.’

  Lilou turned and walked to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a stiff one, effectively ending the conversation.

  Natalie fled the room.

  The shaking in her hands showed her conflict. How was she going to reconcile her beliefs with the expectations, no, “demands” of her family? It went against every fibre in her body. Unlike her mother, she did believe in true love. Not that she was a naive virgin, she had experienced love before, and betrayal. But it had not dampened her resolve to find her soul mate and settle down to a quiet and fulfilling family life. That she would be a different kind of mother than Lilou was evident.

  But now, that same family commitment and loyalty was devastating her chances of a happy life. She would no doubt ruin her reputation if she complied with her mother’s demands. The mistress of the President. Notoriety for sure, but not the kind she aspired to.

  Walking down the street from her parent’s lofty apartment she found herself in front of a church. As a devout Catholic she entered the magnificent building and softly walked to one of the pews almost halfway to the altar. Crossing herself, she slid into the pew and knelt down, her hands together in prayer. She stayed that way for almost ten minutes, praying for wisdom, for a solution to her dilemma. Should she follow her own feelings or do her duty towards her family?

  A man emerged from the door behind the altar. It was the priest, a small round man somewhere in his forties or fifties. She registered his presence but continued to pray. Crossing himself and bowing to the image of Christ behind the altar, the man turned towards the pews and saw Natalie as the only other occupant of the vast church. He approached her.

  ‘Hello, my child,’ the priest addressed her softly. She looked up. The round featu
res and red cheeks gave his face a friendly impression.

  ‘Hello, Father,’ she replied. ‘The door was open. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’ She sat back in the pew.

  ‘You are never an intruder in the house of the Lord, my child,’ the man assured her. ‘Is there anything I can help you with? You seem to be in pain.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. But I need to make a decision. I will be all right.’ She was not very convincing.

  ‘My dear, you look as though you need to unburden your heart. If you will let me, I would like to help.’ The soft smile in the friendly face swayed her, her eyes filling with tears. She lowered her head, trying to hide her grief. Unsuccessfully. Shuffling to the side she made room for the priest in the pew. He sat and waited for her to share what was bothering her. Grateful for the patience the priest displayed, she took a deep breath and addressed him.

  ‘I have a dilemma, Father,’ she finally said. He remained silent allowing her to continue in her own tempo.

  ‘I have to choose between my family and my beliefs, and I do not know what to do. I cannot live without either. But the choices are mutually exclusive.’

  ‘Do you need to choose one over the other, my child?’ he asked. ‘Or are there ways to strike a compromise?’

  She thought about it. ‘I cannot see a way to do that, Father,’ she answered, lowering her eyes. ‘It seems so black and white.’

  ‘Think further than your two choices, my child, see the options in between. Maybe you can be true to your beliefs if you set the limits as to how far you wish to go. Maybe you do not need to do exactly what your family requires to please them. The answer could be somewhere in between. That way, you can keep your beliefs, and your self-respect.’

  It seemed as though the small friendly man was reading her mind. He understood her so completely. She felt at peace, supported.

  Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to compromise. She could go part of the way. Not so far as to actually sleep with the President, but far enough that she could achieve her parent’s goals. The more she thought about it, the more merit it seemed to have. She looked at the priest, at his kind face, the strange brown-ochre eyes, thankful that he had calmed her enough to think things through.

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ she said. ‘You have helped more than you know.’

  ‘I will be here anytime you need someone to talk to, my child. You are always welcome in the house of the Lord.’ He stood and left the pew. ‘Bless you my child,’ he added and then continued his way to the back of the church where others had entered in the meantime.

  Natalie stayed for a few minutes more, filled with hope and peace. Finally, she left the church, passing the priest and a sad looking man with a beautiful daughter of about three. They locked eyes for a moment, she felt a small flutter, but attributed it to the chill that came in through the tall church door she had opened. She went home.

  Lilou had been right. The church was the first place Natalie went to after visiting her.

  I just needed to be in the right place at the right moment. That, and a friendly visage had enabled me to push this beautiful creature a few more steps in the direction Lilou and I had determined. My plan for this country included corrupting the President even more. Getting a hold on him. Influencing him more than I do now. And how to do that? Get to the women in his life. That was the easiest and surest way. As I said earlier, the best way to a man in power is through his women.

  And the President is about to get a new one. One that I control.

  I’ve put two and two together. That is what I do. The priest I was in the Presidential Palace had wormed his way into the favours of the first lady and her amour, Camille. The women were as power-hungry as they come—Juliette even going so far as to marry the bastard Armand. It was a farce. I expect that all of France knew that. But it was accepted, just as her lesbian relationship and his numerous philandering was. It was so “French”, so l’amour. Such bullshit. But it was also my cue to getting the conflict started. I suggested that they find a new woman for the President and somehow make him do even stupider things than he normally did.

  The answer came in the form of another power-obsessed female, a friend of Camille’s, Lilou Beaulieu. Lilou actually offered her daughter for the cause. Her own cause that is. She had her eye on the presidency for one of her sons, readily sacrificing her daughter in the process. The girl was magnificent. A beautiful brunette, killer figure, somewhat mysterious with a soft pliable character and a boundless faith in the church: the ideal combination with which to seduce Armand. He would go for her like a bat out of hell. Now all I needed to do was find a reason for him to lose his restraint and do something really idiotic.

  The women joined forces and created a vacancy in the President’s staff, manipulated the application process and made sure that their pawn was hired. Next week, Natalie will start work there. She will be presented to Armand on the first day. I rely on her to perform her magic.

  I turned my attention back to the young man and his little girl. I had noticed the energy in the air when Natalie’s and the man’s eyes locked. Interesting.

  ‘How are you doing, Jean-Claude?’ I asked. ‘And how are you, my little Emilie?’ I added softly to the timid child. The young girl was small for her five years, her skin was pale, no shine there. She held tightly on to her father’s finger with her small hand, standing half behind his legs.

  ‘She is not doing well, Father,’ the man answered. ‘Her medicine does not help as it used to.’ He left the implications hanging in the air.

  I knelt down in front of the child and smiled at her. Slowly she started to thaw a bit and smiled back. It lit up her face and I saw the child she had once been before she was diagnosed with the life-threatening condition. Now she needed daily medicine just to stay alive and dull the constant pain she endured. And that kind of medicine was expensive.

  ‘She needs more drugs, Father,’ the young man finally said. ‘But I do not have the money and cannot get it anywhere.’ He paused, hesitant to ask the question he desperately needed to ask. ‘Is there any way that the church could help us again?’

  Standing up, I placed my hand on the young man’s shoulder before I answered: ‘I’m sorry, my son. Even the coffers of mother church are depleted. I can give you a very small amount, maybe enough for one more month, but that is all.’ My sympathy was genuine. The child was a precious little thing. Despite her illness she was thankful for all that the world gave her. Thankful that she was alive and here in this wretched place. There was a lot more understanding of her precarious situation than you would expect from a child so young.

  Jean-Claude deflated, he is at the end of his tether. Emilie is his one and only child, the light of his life. But because of her potentially lethal illness, he fears he will lose her. The church is his last resort. He is desperate. And that is what I am counting on. Jean-Claude is another pawn in my game of war. Another who is unaware of the role that he will play.

  ‘There is maybe one more avenue that you could try,’ I said, seemingly hesitant.

  Jean-Claude raised his head, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  ‘It is not maybe the most obvious thing to do, but you could petition the President.’ Disbelief clouded his fragile hope. ‘No,’ I added. ‘Don’t disregard this too quickly.’ I hastened to explain, ‘I spoke with Father Julien. He is the priest for the President’s court. I took the liberty of discussing your situation with him and asking for his council on the matter. He suggested that you petition the President. He promised that he would appeal on your behalf.’ I waited for his response.

  ‘Do you really think that it will help, Father?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘The President is not known for his empathy.’

  ‘I know, my son, but that does not mean that he has no feelings. Write a letter, tell him about your situation, about the loss of your income, that you continue to teach the children, even though you do not get paid. Tell him about your wife’s death, and small sweet Emilie’s illn
ess. Appeal to the man’s empathy. You must try.’

  I put my arm around the man’s shoulders. He was crestfallen, defeated almost. He needed a small push.

  ‘I do not know if I can continue to help you, Jean-Claude, even though it goes against my wishes. There are many more who need help.’

  ‘I understand, Father,’ he said, picking up his daughter, who once again smiled that radiant smile.

  ‘You must try, my son.’

  ‘I will, Father,’ he answered finally.

  ‘Write a letter and give it to me. I will make sure that Father Julien gets it. He will deliver it to the right people in the President’s entourage.’

  It gave him a spark of hope, something to hang on to. To grasp.

  Emilie wiped her father’s tears and sealed the deal.

  ‘I will write the letter, Father,’ he said.

  The pawns are in place.

  They are good people.

  Pity that one of them will have to die.

  Strike the Match

  It was Monday, August the first. There was no avoiding it now. It was her first day of work in the President’s entourage. She was officially in charge of external communications, getting the President’s message out to the public, his constituents. Whether she agreed with his ideas or not was moot. Doing her job meant that she would put aside her own feelings and politics.

  Nervously, she walked up the steps to the Presidential Palace. She had been instructed to report to the Chief of Communications. There she would be shown her working space and first assignments.

  Lilou had supervised her choice of clothing this morning, effectively combining a professional dark blue blazer, pencil skirt and tailored white shirt in a manner that left very little to the imagination about the body underneath. Natalie was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Inheriting her mother’s statuesque frame and combining that with a warm personality effectively made her a man-magnet. It also made her feel uneasy. Personally, she would have preferred to dress less conspicuously. More demurely. But mother would not have it. Natalie had an appointment with President Armand later today and Lilou was determined that she make an impression.