The Long Game

By Frank Tremayne

Donald Tramp glanced around the Oval Office. It felt good to be back he thought. Back home where I belong. He looked at the picture of his relatives on the desk and the picture of mother Elisabeth. She was born in the Scottish Shetland Isles and she had always wondered if emigrating to the USA had been a good idea. He felt he was the proof the struggle had been worthwhile.

The Frank Sinatra song New York, New York played around his mind. ‘Donald Tramp, Donald Tramp so good they elected him twice.’ An intrusive thought suddenly appeared and he felt a twinge of guilt. He had been undercover for so long he had become to believe he was Donald Tramp most of the time now. He knew the real Donald Tramp swam with the fishes somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean dispatched at the age of 20 by Korla’s thugs and the pain from the plastic surgery occasionally still hurt nearly sixty years later.

Contacting Moscow was fraught with danger. He didn’t trust online messaging. Moscow promised him it was encrypted and was for Moscow’s eyes only. Only Korla and a few aides knew the details or so he was told. He preferred the old method of code words but this is the Modern World. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. Trust no one he thought.

Tramp played with the dice in his hands. Lance was a good choice as Vice President. Thick as a brick and unlikely to ask any probing questions. He clearly hoped to become President once this term was finished and Tramp didn’t want to deter him but he knew Moscow would have other ideas.

Sometimes he looked back on his childhood in Moldova with fondness. He remembered walking with his real mother in the Codrii Forest. Korla had informed Tramp she had died ten years later previously. He had been sent a video of the funeral and he had been pleased Korla had left an In Memoriam message from Donald. Tears were very rare for Donald and he was surprised when he experienced a flood of tears for the first time in his life when he was given the news. Her name was Lilia and he had only seen her a few times in the intervening years since he had been smuggled into the United States.

At times he had problems with being Donald Tramp. He enjoyed the acting and conning the arrogant media gave him a buzz. The downside was having to pretend in things he didn’t agree with. He thought God Is Everywhere in the US but he believed there is no God and yet he had to close his eyes and pretend to pray to a God who he didn’t believe in. He preferred not to trust in God. Or anyone for that matter.

He knew in Russia, Vadim Patin had a string of mistresses that Korla would arrange for him and yet in the Puritan USA if he just looked at a woman now, the likes of Whoppy Silverberg would jump on it and it would be big, big news. What’s the use of being President if there are no perks. In the good old days, they would smuggle beauties into the White House and arrange clandestine meetings in out of the way places for the President of the USA.

Tramp chuckled to himself. If only they knew. ‘Make America Great Again’ was the public mantra and his aim was exactly the opposite. ‘Make America Crap Again’ was his private motto and the plan seems to be working. It’s becoming more like a banana republic every day. Venezuela with nuclear weapons.

Tramp’s focus for this term was to start the disintegration of the United States of America. Texas to begin the ball rolling was the intention. Texans had always been suspicious of Washington and the idea of an independent Texas separate from the other states was welcome to many Texans. Tramp didn’t know all the details – need to know – but he could see Korla’s fingerprints with some of the Independent Texas groups.

His train of thought was interrupted as the phone made a noise at him. He pressed the ‘Speaker’ button and it was his new secretary. Unfortunately chosen by his wife ! Tramp favoured a female 30 year old blonde but his wife insisted on a 50 year old male named Vince. Sign of the times.

‘Hello Mr President. It’s President Vadim Patin from Russia on the line wanting to pass on his congratulations. We have done the checks and I can assure you it’s not Sacha Baron Cohen.’

Tramp’s anxiety levels rose.

’OK. Put him through’ he replied.

Patin prefers to speak in Russian and even though Tramp is fluent in Russian, for the purposes of the exercise he keeps it hidden.

He smiled to himself when Patin said ‘Congratulations Donald’ in Russian and then the translator said ‘Congratulations Donald’ in English. So good they said it twice. Tramp had always been wary of Patin. He didn’t know what Patin knew about Tramp’s double life so he liked to keep things above board.

‘Thank You Vadim. Good to speak to you again. I am hoping we can continue our cordial relationship with each other.’

‘There are many issues we need to talk about in the near future and I would like to propose a meeting at a mutually convenient venue.’

There was a silence on the line and he heard a muffled conversation with Patin and the translator.

‘That is exactly what I was going to propose. I think we can leave that to our aides to liaise about the date and venue’ the translator replied.

The conversation went on for a further fifteen minutes about various issues such as Ukraine, Climate Change and China.

‘Good to speak to you and once again congratulations Donald.’ Only four years, Patin joked.

Tramp thought my real name is Damir. Part of him wanted to blurt that out and yet over the years only a few times his mask had slipped and fortunately no one had noticed. Or maybe they had, he worried sometimes.

Tramp congratulated himself. The conversation had gone well. He thanked Patin and the translator: ‘Speak soon Vadim.’

Vince then came on the line. ‘You have a press meeting with the media at 2 pm. Is there anything you need ?’ Tramp enjoyed the meetings with the media. They allowed him to use his acting skills to the full and even though sometimes he felt small guilt with the ruse, he enjoyed fooling the ever so clever journalists.

‘Bring them on’ Tramp replied.