- AM -

The alarm clock woke Robert Bohm at 5:30 of the morning, and for the near-hundredth time during the year, he hurried to shut it off. His wife moaned softly, pulling her bed covers closer to her. Robert propped on an elbow to watch her sleep for a few minutes, enjoying her facial features, showing some subtle signs of aging to his fondness, under the soft moonlight piercing through the curtains. Pushing delicately some of her hair strands aside to reveal her cheek, he leaned over and kissed her softly near her lips. She moaned once more, and groggily lifted a sleepy hand to touch his cheek.

“Have a good day, honey,” she sleepily told him.

“I will, baby, as always,” Bohm replied softly, kissing his wife’s hand, before rising out of bed; his wife was already fast asleep.

While shaving, Bohm clung to the emotion of the moment he just had; for him, these small times with his wife were at times more fulfilling to him than even his newfound position as President. However, he wished as many people as him to experience the same joys than him, the same comfort and peace of mind. He wanted others than him to have the same roof over their head, the same food to nourish them than his; enough financial stability to allow then to enjoy and cherish every moments with their family as he did.

That was his main drive as President, and the only one he could see fit of anyone of that title to uphold. While a Senator, he could do some good, but not enough for his wishes, and one of his colleague told him that the only way he could truly accomplish good was to be at the utmost top, for no power would be lacking to help his kindred. He was lucky that he got noticed by the former President’s Counsellor, Randall Redspear; when no one would fund him, Randall took it upon himself to take care of all the details. Bohm became aware that Randall had unique, and sometime doubtable, ways to handle business; but if there was one thing that Bohm understood the most about politics, was that no one was entirely spotless. Politics always came hand in hand with dirtying one’s hands; however, one could find a way to atone for the dirty deeds if these deeds made peace possible. An adage he came to understand was that more often than not, the end justified the means; the world is not sunny and all-good. To bring about that good, one had to be prepared to sully one’s hands as a result; Robert was ready to do so if it meant his vision of the world would come true.

When Bohm entered his office, his secretary almost immediately followed with an armful of files, a size worth of the week that passed.

“Thank you, Shannon,” he sighed; the problem with taking complete control, unlike his predecessors whom relied on subordinates, was that he ended up with all the paperworks.

“Need anything else, Mr. President?” she asked eagerly.

“No thank you, not for now.”

“Very well.”

When she left, Bohm gazed at the files, exaggeratedly stretched his arms in a parodic manner, and went to the hard work of sorting what was useful.

After a few hours of reading, Bohm’s eyebrows frowned upon several files he studied. Grabbing his phone, he contacted his secretary.

“Shannon, get Randall, and tell him to meet me at my office, would you please?”

“Of course, Mr. President,” she replied, before hanging up.

Bohm leaned back into his chair, his thoughts concentrating on the troubling news he just read on the reports. He knew the country had to undergo some changes and adjustments, but there was a few things that he started to feel uncomfortable with. No matter what, his dream for his people came first, and he always believed that his Counsellor knew that; but…

It didn’t took long before a knock was heard on his door.

“Come in,” Bohm said.

Randall opened and closed the door behind him, and casually approached the President.

“You wanted to see me, Robert?”

Bohm slid across his desk a folder, motioning his Counsellor to take a look at it. Randall quickly scanned of his icy eyes the report, without sitting down, and when afterwards he replaced it on Bohm’s desk, he looked down indifferently at the President.

“I hope you’re aware that I have a busy life, Robert. What exactly did you called me for?”

Bohm glared at him, leaning across his desk, his hands linked in an attempt to remain composed:

“And I hope you’re aware that I worked my entire life to obtain this position, to accomplish my most sacred goal: the same peace and comfort that I earned for also my people. The last thing I want to learn after the weeks I’ve started as a leader, with all the effort I have spent, is that your team doesn’t do the jobs you promised me, Randall.”

Randall’s eyes turned to icy steel at Bohm’s accusations; the President, despite his efforts, felt a cold chill run down his spine under this stare. He remained composed however, and he rose to his feet, his determined gaze matching his Counsellor’s.

“Not only do I learn that your division hasn’t even started the economic cuts and the pensions, despite you having the money since our last meeting last week, or so you assured me; but despite the assurances and the promises that I give to my people, under my name and because you inform me that all is taken care of, crime rate is rising! How the hell do you want me to assure the people that the Security Division is as efficient as you promised me, when the last month has not been any different than the months before... and even worst. Randall, the numbers here indicate a rise of 5% in crimes. What the hell are your people doing?!”

“Exactly what is planned, Robert. Unless you want a revolution under your rule, certain sacrifices has to be carried out.”

“What sacrifices?! Randall, two-thirds of the victims have nothing to do with politics or governmental issues! They were just robbed, attacked, or killed out of cold blood. Nothing to do with politics or revolutions. They are supposed to be protected by the Security Division; and on many alarming occasions, I see here in these reports that the S.D. is just seemingly sitting on their asses!”

“That’s what you see on the report, because that’s what I ordered it to be put there, since all records are to be made public,” retorted Randall, visibly angered by Bohm’s defiance. “You have no idea what is actually happening, or how the changes of your party is affecting the population. Out there, citizens are nothing but instinctive animals waiting the perfect occasion to get what they want. We have to make sure such sentiments aren’t spreading and causing the biggest Civil War in history. That’s why the sacrifices are made, and why I’m not bothering you with it; otherwise, you and your precious wife wouldn’t sleep at night.”

Bohm seized Randall; something had changed in his Counsellor, and yet, the President felt as if he finally saw the real man behind these angry icy eyes.

“Fine; let's pretend I buy your excuses for the rise in crimes; what about the pensions, and the economics cuts? They should have started by now, according to your word.”

“Plans take time to implement. I specifically said the money was available; what makes you think however that we can just start right away the changes. What do you suggest, we throw the money in the air and let the citizens grab it?” Randall was now visibly angry. “The plans for its implementation are underway, just ask Solomon, he’ll tell you the same thing.”

Bohm continued to gaze at his Counsellor with undisguised suspicion; he sat back in his chair, and waved at the door.

“Get out. I’ll figure out this by myself.”

Randall stared sharply at Bohm.

“Don’t forget who put you in that chair, Robert.”

“And you seemed to have forgotten why I wanted to be elected. What I see in this report, what you are telling me right now, is not what I promised my people. I promised them security, peace of mind, and the same privileges that I share. Nothing in that report show me those promises. You have some explaining to do.”

As Randall was about to speak, Bohm rose from his seat, and leaning over the table, he stared straight at his Counsellor:

“As for positions, you seem to have forgotten yours. You are my Counsellor, which means under my command; so don’t do in front of me that almighty king-of-the-mountain smug of yours. Starting tomorrow, you show me signs of fixing that God awful report I just read; otherwise I demote you just as you demoted incompetent council members. Am I clear, Mr. Redspear?”

Randall stared back at Bohm with cold fury, and he turned on his heels;

“Yes, Mr. President,” on those words he whammed the door shut.

Out of sight from anyone, Randall stopped, his heavy breathing firing up his fury. He threw his wrist at the wall, creating a small depression in the painting; instantly, the pain shot to his hand, and he cradled it in his other hand, resuming walking. He barely noticed the astonished gaze of some of the workers in the White Castle as he walked down the corridors and, an utmost rare thing with him, began to heavily swear. He sent a call to Scott:

“Get that damn meeting between Abraham and our superiors done as fast as possible. I want to speed the plan to the next step, so I can kick that bloody Robert down the sewers with the rest of the arseholes.”

Scott laughed upon hearing a flustered Randall, but he acknowledged the order and said he would do his best.

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

Bohm took a deep breath and sat back down. He realized his hands were shaking with the confrontation; he smiled derisively. Confronting his Counsellor was more nerve wracking and terrifying than ruling over an entire country. He turned his chair toward the window, and looked outside; for the first time ever since that day he got recognized for his potential, he finally asked the question that burned his lips to the emptiness:

“Who is that man? What is he hiding or planning?”

He passed in desperation his hand in his hair. He had no way to find out that answer; he knew by experience that Randall would be too careful to let anyone know anything about him. Crossing his hands, Bohm looked distractedly outside, trying to find any lead at all to start with. Realizing something, he turned to his safe cellphone, and speed-dialled his wife.

“Hi honey, how is your day?” she answered.

“Frances… When you’re on a case where a suspect doesn’t do any mistake, what lead gives that suspect away?”

“What is this for?” she asked, puzzled.

“It’s a long story, and I’m going with my hunch. Please, what gives a suspect away when he makes no mistakes?”

Frances laughed softly;

“Honey, there is no such thing as never making any mistakes. A criminal will always make one mistake; especially when he thinks he’s at the safest.”

“So?” Bohm pressed.

“Well, other than patiently wait for the suspect to make that mistake… why not look for his rats?”

“What?” it was Bohm’s turn to be confused.

“A careful criminal doesn’t work alone. He wouldn’t be able to. To stay safe, he needs rats, or for you and me, assistants. They do most of the dirty jobs for him, clear the way. And if you’re clever enough, which I know you are, you can find traces of those rats. Find them, and you’ll find the criminal.”

Bohm thought some time, and an idea popped in his head.

“Frances, you are the best!” he made a sound of a kiss.

His wife laughed, and returned the kissing sound.

“I don’t know what’s going on, honey, but you better tell me when you’ll come home.”

“I promise I will, once I figure things out a bit better,” he replied.

“Good luck, honey!”

“Good day to you, baby.”

When Bohm hang up, he felt better, and most of all, knew what to look for. He smiled; that was the advantage of having a family: you could always count on them to help you out. He took his official phone and contacted back his secretary.

“Shannon, I need a big favour. Please look up who went into the Confederation Library, and what files they researched, back to six months before the presidential election. Narrow it down to those who have governmental I.D. passes. Bring everything you find to me, and don’t let absolutely no one else know about it.”

“Even with those parameters, it’ll probably give me thousands of results,” Shannon replied worryingly.

“I know. I’m sorry to ask you this, but I need this favour.”

“No problem, Mr. President. It’ll be my honour,” Shannon simply replied, and Bohm knew she was honest.

“Thank you, Shannon.”

He hung up, and returned his attention to the troubling report. He had a feeling that Randall had done more than just demoting his political opponents, more than getting him to the top for the good of the people. Something was fishy, and against Bohm’s duties, and he was sure innocent people got caught in the fire. All of that required researches into personal files. And his wife was right: Randall was bound to have made even a small mistake that would reveal his true intentions. And the biggest mistake would be using an assistant. It wouldn’t be suspicious if Randall himself would look into personnel files; it would in fact be normal for a council member in charge of handling other council members, especially a member as loner and independent as his Counsellor. But what would pique Bohm’s suspicions would be seeing the name of someone he never met using Randall’s I.D. for researching those personnel files. And if his hunch was right… researching people other than council members. People like the citizens Bohm promised himself to protect.

His hands tightened together; if his Counsellor planned something against his vows, he would personally stand in his way.

“Not under my watch!” Bohm thought before gazing through the window at the world stretching before his eyes, a world he loved despite its flaws.