The President stirred, rolled over, and drifted back into half-sleep.

People dream that one day someone will come along and bring the planet what no leader has ever even dreamed of achieving – perfection.

You could be the embodiment of this dream.

You could be the man-made messiah.

You could bring that perfection.

The President jolted himself awake.

As the voice of the director retreated from his conscious mind, and he emerged back into reality, he was left with a fading call from the distance.

Go on Hunter… step up to the plate.

25.2

The President waved the minders away from the door of John Conquest’s isolated mountaintop retreat, and stepped inside alone.

“Sorry about the mess,” John said, embracing him warmly. “We haven’t been here since summer.”

It was eleven-twenty on Sunday morning and they, more or less habitually, drifted towards the bar.

“Have you had a look at them yet?” the President asked.

“No, no. Hunter – come on, I’d never do that without you.”

They sipped mineral water and settled easily into each other’s company, exchanging idle chat – the weather, the kids, the fat Senator who’d been caught with his pants down, slowly draining the tank of shared laughs.