Making her way to the reception she announced her name and was met four minutes later by Valentin Rousseau, the Chief of Communications to the President. The man was pleasant enough, though he did check out her body. Mind you, they all do. Walking through the long hallways, they made their way to the offices.
Valentin led her to a suite of offices off the main hallway and introduced her to the people there. They seemed friendly enough, though the blonde secretary obviously felt threatened by her. Another beautiful woman herself, she saw a competitor in the new recruit. All this was evident to Natalie. She had lived under the effects of envy for a long time.
The day was uneventful. Natalie spent most of her time reading her predecessor’s news reports and communications, gaining an understanding of the manner in which he had spread the word. She was unimpressed. There was definitely room for improvement here.
The dreaded moment was near. In ten minutes, she would be presented to the President. Lilou had just phoned to enquire how her day was. Yeah right, to make sure that she didn’t duck out of the meeting and that she did as she was told. There was no going back now.
Natalie saw Valentin striding to her desk. No doubt to accompany her to the President.
‘Are you ready, mademoiselle?’ he asked. She nodded. Putting on her blazer and fitting the tablet under her arm, she followed the Chief of Communications to the Presidential Office.
I was standing next to the President’s desk, listening to the Prime Minister address Armand when Valentin and Natalie entered the room. There were about eight or nine people in the room at the time, some listening to the Prime Minister, as I was, others talking amongst themselves.
Armand was engrossed in the papers in his hands, hardly taking any note of the politician.
All talk in the room ceased. You could hear a pin drop. As one, all eyes were on the woman who followed Valentin into the room.
Noticing that something was different, Armand looked up at the Prime Minister. Following the man’s gaze towards the door, he saw Natalie. Time stood still, or so it seemed. I could see it clearly—the idiot was hooked. As was almost every man in the room.
Her slight blush and nervous glances showed that Natalie was feeling extremely uncomfortable. She was used to attention, but this was ridiculous. Valentin came to her rescue and broke the silence.
‘Excellence, may I introduce Mademoiselle Beaulieu,’ he addressed the President. ‘She is taking over the duties of Monsieur Boucher.’
‘A definite improvement,’ Armand answered as he stood and walked from behind the desk to personally greet the new arrival.
‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’ he said offering his hand. Unsure, she put her hand in his and was totally surprised when he moved it towards his lips and lightly kissed her fingers. She turned bright red.
‘Please, mademoiselle, do not be embarrassed or shy,’ he continued. ‘We are all family here.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘I look forward to spending more time with you.’
‘Merci, Excellency,’ she managed to stammer, pulling her hand free in a non-obtrusive manner. Armand let her go and with one last smile turned and retook his place behind the desk.
‘Let’s start.’ All business, the President started the meeting. He was professional and to the point, allowing his advisors to state their case and then giving them his remarks and changes. Throughout the discussion he stole occasional glances at Natalie. I observed it all with great amusement. The man was smitten, completely. This was just too easy.
As the proverbial fly on the wall, I was party to many of the President’s meetings. He thought it gave the gathering of ministers and the decisions made there some form of celestial endorsement. So, I stayed. I hardly ever spoke. Just nodded whenever it was appropriate.
And I listened.
My presence unnerved most of the ministers. That was probably another reason why Armand wanted me here.
To the people present I was a tall, lean, dark man in a simple brown priest’s cassock. My facial features were stern, never even a hint of a smile, not even in my strange ochre-brown eyes. I was the textbook fundamentalist Catholic priest. Someone to fear. To many I conjured up images of the Inquisition.
This personage was far from the jolly and friendly priest that had spoken to Natalie in the church last week. She didn’t recognise me, but she was in some way comforted by my presence here in the Presidential Palace. I represented the Church and that was good enough for her. She would automatically navigate towards me, and from now on I would be her rock in the Gomorrah she had been thrown into.
Soon I would talk to her in a more personal setting.
The plan was coming together.
I never cease to be surprised by you and your kind.
You are so gullible.
You believe what you want to believe, see what you want to see. So that’s what I show you.
I change your perspective so that what happens in and around you match what you want it to be. It’s not reality, but that’s not what interests you anyway. That’s not what you need so no loss there.
You have a ridiculously high need for a feeling of security. You need to know what could or would or even might happen. No surprises. You hate them. You would prefer a negative but definite outcome to a chance at something unknown. Because, if you know what is going to happen you can react. You can cut your losses or make some kind of amends to mitigate the negativity.
Instead of “maybe something good”, you choose “definitely bad.” There are no uncertainties there.
You are so predictable, so utterly boring. Your existence is generally mundane. You wake up, go about your predictable lives, go home, sleep and it starts all over again the next day. Yes, I generalise, but it pertains to the majority of your kind. So more often than not, it will apply.
You could make so much more of your short time here if you just took the leap into the unknown. It would advance you exponentially. Instead you prosecute anyone who dares. You make their life’s work impossible or you ridicule it. The biggest obstruction to the improvement and development of the human race is the human — you.
Not that I’m complaining; it makes my work so much easier. I can predict how you will react, what you want, what you need to believe. So I give it to you. And you follow. You do what I whisper to your subconscious mind. Your paranoia does the rest. It’s hardly a challenge anymore to get you to kill each other. You are predisposed to slaughtering your own kind.
Man is self-destructive. And that is what I’m counting on.
My job is to create a balance. One that allows the planet to survive all the destructive results of mankind. You were the worst mistake that Nature ever made. Giving you the opportunity to evolve into the superior species on the planet completely backfired on her. Instead of working with Nature, you completely disregard anything that is not in your own, short-term best interest. You sabotage the one reason that you ever got this far and expect to get away with it.
Well, she may be forgiving, but she’s not stupid. When it comes to survival, there’s a lot you could learn from Nature.
You are now a pest. You are an overpopulation and as it happens when a species overruns a region, Nature reacts. There is some kind of natural cull that happens. A virus, an earthquake or in this case, me. I’m called in—a war is needed.
I have no idea where I came from. Or what I actually am.
Not human, that I deduced. More than 3,000 years old is quite a hint.
Anyway, it’s not like I ever met someone or something that explained my purpose in life. It’s something that I pieced together in time. Something that adds up. That gives me a reason. Yes, I need one too. In that, I guess I resemble your kind. If I live for eternity, then there must be a reason. A higher design. Some purpose for making me see and endure all that I have experienced in the thousands of years. There must be an explanation. It can’t be random. Nobody lives forever without some kind of meaning.
This is my reason. I bring the b
alance back. I start The Cull.
Everyday Natalie picked up the courage to go to work. She hated it. The innuendos, the all-out lustful gazes from almost all the men in the office. The hostility of the women.
Lilou continued her early morning visits to Natalie’s house for the first two weeks, making sure that her daughter would go to work and dress as she wanted her to. The goal was to seduce the President, to indebt him to her family. For this Natalie needed to dress seductively but not overtly provocatively. That was a delicate balance that Lilou presided over. What Natalie wanted was not important.
President Armand went out of his way to see Natalie every day. The first few days she was always accompanied by Valentin, who was showing her the ropes. But after about a week he left her to her own devices, impressed by the speed with which she had grasped the tasks.
Every afternoon she had a meeting with President Armand to discuss the communications that would go out. To start with he was all business, but as time went by he used more of their allotted time to drill her on her personal life. Reluctantly, she answered some of his quite private questions. Trying to keep at least a distance between them, she fidgeted more than she would like, bringing a smile to the President’s lips more than once. He obviously enjoyed her discomfort.
In her second week at the Presidential Offices, Natalie was surprised when the President personally invited her to a fund-raising party that had been organised by the First Lady.
‘It’s an ideal opportunity to present you to the press, my dear,’ the President remarked when he handed over the official invitation. ‘And it will give you inspiration for some new bulletins and stories for the coming weeks.’
President Armand had taken to walking around when Natalie was in the room, so he could observe her from all sides. He enjoyed how it made her nervous that she couldn’t see him, didn’t know what he would do. Occasionally he would place a hand on her shoulder, or brush against her, startling her every time and loving the effect he had on her.
‘Your family has also received an invitation,’ he continued, standing very close to her. ‘The dress code is evening wear. I expect you to make quite an entrance, so please dress accordingly. I am sure your mother can assist you in choosing the right gown.’ Looking away demurely she failed to see the outright lust that was visible in his sneer. Thinking back on his discussion with Lilou about the party, he smiled at the enthusiasm with which the older woman agreed to anything he proposed with regard to her daughter. He wanted to see how magnificent Natalie could be in evening wear. And he wanted to show everyone present that this magnificent creature, and the object of everyone’s envy, would be his new conquest. He would publicly stake his claim to her at the party.
Natalie was gorgeous, stunning. The beautiful sparkling couture gown her mother had chosen for her hugged her figure in all the right places. It was just classy enough but left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her hair and makeup had been styled by the coiffeur and the make-up artist of the stars, both of whom had improved her already almost perfect features. She outshone everyone in the ballroom.
Lilou was ecstatic. Her daughter was definitely making the required impression tonight.
The gala was officially a fundraiser. Disguised as a charity event that focussed on medical support for the impoverished French constituents, it was actually an excuse for the rich to party. Strutting their stuff, they all tried to surpass the others: in wealth, beauty, style and bravado. It was an excess of decadence in a country where the majority of the inhabitants didn’t know where their next meal would come from.
Natalie was escorted into this cesspool by her parents and brothers, all but her revelling in the impact their entrance made. The smile never left her mother’s face. Lilou made a beeline for the President. There was nothing subtle about that woman. She was here on a mission.
Natalie almost cringed under the stares and whispered remarks. She knew the effect her presence was having and hated all the lustful and envious attention. If it had been up to her, she would be at home now. Or maybe even at mass. But that was the problem, it wasn’t up to her.
Armand saw them coming. His face lit up when he spied Natalie. She was sensational. Making sure that he first addressed her parents, he greeted the family.
‘My dear Madame Beaulieu,’ he acknowledged Lilou. She beamed at his attention. He then turned to Evan and Clement. ‘Gentlemen.’ He shook their hands, first Evan and then Clement, the moment immortalised by the media present at the gala. That would get the rumour engine running full steam.
Finally, he focussed all his attention on Natalie.
‘Natalie, how ravishing you look.’ Once again, he took her hand in his and kissed her fingers lightly. ‘You light up the room. The evening is complete now that you are here.’ His lips stayed on her fingers a smidgen too long. She tried to pull her hand back, but Armand held on. Short of causing a scene, there was nothing she could do.
‘Please do me the pleasure of the first dance, my dear,’ the President asked. This was unheard of. The first dance was for the Presidential pair. Dancing with Natalie was an unbelievable insult to the First Lady. A rebuff that bordered on rejection. Armand was aware of this, silently revelling in the pain it would inflict on Juliette. That would get her hackles up—the bitch.
‘Your excellence, I can’t,’ Natalie attempted. ‘It is not right,’ she added softly so that only Armand could hear her.
‘I insist,’ he answered loudly, effectively ending the discussion.
Signalling to the nine-piece orchestra, Armand took Natalie by the elbow and led her to the dance floor. There they danced. After about two minutes Valentin and his wife joined them on the floor and slowly others followed, much to Natalie’s relief.
Throughout the evening Armand danced with Natalie another three times, completely ignoring his wife and the impact he was making. The media would have a field day on this. This was fun.
Nearing the end of the evening, Natalie managed to sneak away to find the ladies room. She needed to compose herself. The evening was taking its toll on her. The insistent whispering of the people around her, the hardly veiled innuendos, it was just too much. She was near tears. Walking down a long corridor she calmed down a little. It was, however, short-lived. Passing an open office door, she was suddenly grabbed and pulled into the room. The door was kicked shut. The hand over her mouth prevented her from calling out. She was spun around and gasped when she recognised the President. His smile was everything but kind, moving his hand from her mouth to the back of her neck he pulled her roughly towards him and kissed her hard.
In shock, it took her a few seconds to respond. She put her hands on his chest and tried to push him away. He, however, had other ideas. Shoving her hands away he pulled her even closer, cupping one of her breasts. She managed to turn her face from his hungry lips, imploring him to stop.
He smiled a lopsided smile. ‘Stop?’ he whispered huskily. ‘No way, not after your seductive glances and moves all evening. Not with the way you look.’ Her protest fell on deaf ears. He wasn’t listening, totally engrossed in his own lust and gratification. His hands were all over her body. Suddenly, he bent through the knees, grabbed hold of the hem of her dress and pulled the fragile material up over her waist so that she was virtually naked from the hips down. Without any thoughts for her feelings, he ripped the dainty string and pushed his fingers deep between her legs. She gasped, not from pleasure but from utter revulsion and disbelief that this was happening to her. Almost tearing his own clothes in his haste, he finally managed to drop his pants.
‘No, please,’ she pleaded with him. ‘Please do not do this.’
He grabbed her right thigh, pulled the knee up and roughly entered her.
Rutting like a mad dog with absolutely no regard for Natalie, he came within minutes.
Spent, he stepped back and, once again sporting his obscene smile, he viewed his latest conquest. Picking up the discarded and ripped string, he put it in the pocket of h
is tuxedo. ‘A souvenir.’
Natalie sobbed uncontrollably. Completely crushed by what basically amounted to rape by the President, she slowly sank to the ground.
‘Don’t cry,’ Armand said without even a trace of empathy. ‘You will ruin your make up.’ Pulling up his pants and redressing, he added. ‘I will see you in the ballroom for the final dance of the evening.’ He opened the door and walked though. As an afterthought, he turned back to her and added, ‘And as of tomorrow, I look forward to repeating the experience on a regular basis. You are now mine, mademoiselle. Mine.’ Closing the door behind him, he made his way back to the gala. His security detail joined him from the neighbouring room.
Natalie was heartbroken. She had been molested. But there was nothing she could do about it. If she told her mother, the woman would probably be ecstatic. It was her goal that Natalie have an affair with the President, how was not important. But she herself had not wanted it to go this far. She had naively imagined that she could exert some kind of control and determine how far they would go. That illusion had been shattered tonight. That and her self-esteem, her intrinsic sense of value. He had violated her to her core.
Finally getting a grip on herself, she stood up, rearranged her dress, and made her way out of the office towards the ladies’ room two doors down the hallway. There she managed to correct her makeup to a point that it was acceptable.
Warmonger Page 3
