Excerpt

from CHAPTER 19 – “Smoke and Mirrors”

As he resumed his walk around the Oval Office, Sebastian Greene began to recognize that the President might still need some help being convinced. So Greene asked, “Do you know the quote, ‘Politicians and diapers must be changed often, and for the same reasons.’?”

Exasperated, the President responded, “Yes. Mark Twain?”

“No, actually. It does sound like something old Sam Clemens would have said, but no. It’s been so widely attributed to him over the last twenty years that most everyone – including the President of the United States, apparently – believes it. Isn’t that funny?”

“So, who said it?”

“Does it matter?” Greene moved around the room. “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t think—“

“—You know who said that?” With too short of a pause to elicit a response, Greene continued. “The Nazi Propagandist Joseph Goebbels.”

Greene walked over to the Seymour grandfather clock and straightened his tie in the reflection of its face.

“Smoke and mirrors, Bob. Mirrors and smoke.” He glimpsed at the clock’s reflection of the President over his shoulder.

“The American people want to believe what you will tell them, even those of them that don’t really believe in you. So, you tell them. Whether you have all the facts or not. Tell them over and over and over, again.”

Greene sauntered around the Oval Office like he was in his own living room. “They want to believe that everything is going to be all right. They want to believe that we can contain any problem. That we can contain this virus. That we are always the good guys. That we will always win.” He pointed at the President. “Don’t you ever let them doubt it. Not when we’re just a shot away.”

A silence fell over the room for a long moment. The President was staring at the floor when Greene felt he let that sink in long enough.

Almost gently, Greene continued, “They so badly want to believe you that they have forgotten how to even discern what’s real from what isn’t. So, reassure them. They need that. They need you to tell them what to believe. You’re a magician, a spell caster, an enchanter. Be sure you maintain the illusion, Bob. Smoke and mirrors.”

“And the illusion is?” asked the President.

“That you are in total control.”

He moved along the wall to examine The Avenue in the Rain, the famous painting of Fifth Avenue in New York City by Hassam. “Looks like a storm is coming, doesn’t it? It makes you wonder: do you have shelter? An exit strategy? A plan?” Greene asked, unconcerned with the President’s answer. “Well, you know I do. Big enough for a Noah-sized flood.”

“Hang on, Sebby. I am the President of the United States.”

“The fact that you feel the need to remind me of that should tell you something. Only the programmed American public still believes you’re in charge, Bob. That’s why maintaining the illusion is so vital to your survival.”

The President looked at Greene, shocked, then reassured him, “The plan is being executed as we speak.”

“See it through, Bob. For the good of the American people. And remember how you got here.”

Greene walked over to the Rockwell painting of the Statue of Liberty and thought, no one else has had his way with her like he had. Then he said, “Remember, Bob, no one is promised tomorrow.”

He pulled an envelope from his suit coat breast pocket and handed it to President Robert Malcolm, and took a long moment to let his last words sink in, too.

“When you give that speech I had written for you, don’t forget that. And emphasize the particulars. Name the names. Don’t skip those. Those kinds of specifics help the public trust that it is real.” Greene pointed at ‘leader of the free world.’ “Always be sure to give them a villain, someone to blame, to root against. Like a damn Disney movie. They need that.”

Greene looked at the envelope in the President’s hand.

“Don’t forget the smoke and mirrors, Bob. And don’t you dare forget about that.” Greene nodded at the envelope and watched the President open it and digest its contents.

As he read, the expression on the President’s face morphed from some contortion of fear into anger and back to fear.

He walked over to the fireplace, set the envelope and the pages it contained on the white mantel, then pulled a cheap plastic lighter and a pack of cigarettes from behind a picture of the First Lady. He lit a cigarette and closed his eyes on the inhale.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Greene moving toward him. He flicked the lighter again, picked up the pages and lit them. He watched them burn briefly before he tossed them into the fireplace. A long ribbon of gray smoke rose between he and Greene.

“You know that’s just a copy, Bob,” said Greene with a wink, as he exited the Oval Office through the door to the left of the fireplace, out into the Rose Garden.