- 00 -

High above the ground, in a White Castle room overlooking the crowd, a tall and slender old man smiled victoriously at the sound of the people cheering, his piercing grey eyes shining in the sunlight flooding through the wall-wide window.

Randall Redspear turned away from the window as the door opened and the new President walked in. As he always instinctively did to his interlocutors, Randall looked over his companion. Unlike his predecessors, and despite his 6’2 height, Robert Bohm had a stoutly built countenance; his walk was calm and solemn, and his steps were measured. His entire manner naturally inspired respect, but most of all, trust and confidence. Although both he and Randall were well into their late years, they couldn’t be more opposites. In contrast to his ice grey eyes, Robert’s sky blue eyes were determined and intense, but thoughtful, even soft in some moments. And albeit both had grey hairs drawn toward the back (Robert’s showing remains of dark brown streaks from his youthful years), what further distinguished them was the unusual presence of Robert’s bushy grey sideburns; it gave him a lost yet much needed old-fashioned look, as if more grounded to a simpler past than the overly modern world surrounding him.

“Done,” Robert announced, his accent registering more intensely his regional Suthern upbringing when not in his public persona. “It’s been some time since I’ve heard the population cheer that way.”

“Of course they did, how could they not, with the script we provided you?” Randall retorted. “Now, it would have worked better if you would cooperate with David’s tips, and wouldn’t stray away from the key points in scripts.”

Anyone but the President would have wondered at the Counsellor speaking, for he had a Britannian accent, not the typical accent expected of Americani leaders, such as Robert’s. Such an oddity was only one amongst the many mysteries surrounding Randall Redspear that the President had long since decided to ignore in favour of his incredible skills in leadership.

“I don’t like to rely on old psychological tricks. The people out there aren’t statistics and mental theories,” Bohm argued, sighing.

Randall’s eyes flared. It was him that should have sighed at the argument they too often had.

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“And I won’t count how many times I have to prove to you that people in my position have mastered human psyche long enough to know your argument is still naive.”

“Then, what’s the next move?” Robert inquired, eager to change the subject.

Randall walked away from the window, and stared at Robert, noticing with disguised pride as the President tried to discreetly recoil as the gap closed between them. Despite Robert’s intimidating presence, Randall’s predatorial gaze and countenance managed nonetheless to make the President look like a cub.

“You do as you’re told, and you keep your fulfilled dream. You’ve come so far to get this position; you don’t want to jeopardize it in the same day, do you?”

“Lettin’ you down is far from my desire,” Robert said, stunned at the icy threat. “Beside, you know the strength of my dreams for the people; why would I jeopardize them?”

Randall simply smiled in response as he took his last look at Robert, and walked out without a word, leaving the President still stunned.

Going down the corridor, he barely glanced as the long file waiting for the elevator instinctively moved a bit to let him through first. But he waved them ahead and instead took his preferred path, the long-winding stairs. While halfway down, a distorted voice flooded Randall’s mind:

“Sir, we have information that an Americani called George Durell is digging up dirt about your activities.”

“Does his activities fall within the allotted limit?”

“No, sir. He has reached beyond the allowance.”

“Is there a way he can be distracted?” Randall asked worryingly.

“We tried, but to no avail. We cannot find any dirt on him and if we try harder, he’ll only be more suspicious and it might push him to act.”

“Fine, let me handle it. This Mr. Durell won’t bother me for long,” Randall replied annoyingly.

“Very well, sir,” the voice screeched before going away altogether.

Randall sighed, and sent a call to his ‘personal business handler’, as he liked to nickname her in such circumstances.

**********************

As his Counsellor left the office, Robert Bohm was left wondering what brought about this strange conversation; despite his knowledge and gratitude that his complete success was owned entirely due to Randall’s support, there was something terrifyingly threatening in the way the Counsellor phrased his words. Robert could only wonder why would Randall threaten him after going this far to help him.

However, not long after Randall left, these thoughts dissipated and Robert looked around at what was now his Office, letting a smile make its way to his face; and making sure no one could see him, he momentarily made a little clumsy dance of victory: he had finally made it to the top. Now, he could help everyone achieve his dream.