(A novella, in progress,  that explains all the ‘Why does Trump…’ and ‘Why doesn’t Trump…?’ questions.)

By Smithfix


   “James, Glad you finally came to see me again.” Trump said, smiling and rising from behind his ornate, antique desk.

   Trump had, on several occasions, asked to meet with The Operative, relaying his desire through the advisers and strategists he has been assigned; none of which were officially noted as campaign staff but none the less, guided the campaign quietly and efficiently behind the scenes.

   They were few, the ones working the campaign, but very good at their professions. They to, like The Operative, had been carefully chosen, educated, and groomed from a young age to serve; though they were not aware who they truly served. Some thought they were Foreign Agents, and they were - in a sense; others just thought they were highly paid Lobbyists, in effect; working for un-named international corporations. Questions along those lines were discouraged. The pay bordered on the lavish, the Perks… exotic. Each had his, or her, own ‘legend’; each playing a roll they thought was all their own, never to be revealed and to be maintained even to their closest friends and spouses, if they had one. They were carefully monitored to ensure this. Too much was at stake.  If they knew how, and very literally, ‘disposable’ they were, they might have re-thought their careers. They had been carefully groomed. Avarice and a degree of sociopathy were in their Psych-Profile, or they would not be suitable for their positions.

   “Mr. Trump.” The Operative said with a nod as he closed the door behind him.

   Striding forward to take Trump’s proffered hand, simultaneously placing his thin briefcase on one of the two leather chairs in front of desk, The Operative said, “Sorry, I have been unable to see you myself since our last meeting, but I trust our people have been serving you well in the campaign? From reports I have received, you have been having a great time.” The Operative was going to offer no excuses as to why he had not come as requested.

   “I have to admit, I have.” Trump replied with a broad smile. “Have you seen the crowds? The only thing I don’t like is the teleprompter. I like to watch my perform…er…, my speeches, and when I use the damned things I just come off stiff, you know? I like to be more off the cuff, off the cuff is better.”

   “You have done fine, but you have to remember how easy it is for you to come off wrong, to improperly phrase something that will stick in the minds of your followers and hurt your credibility. Continue to listen to the advisers, Mr. Trump, and you have this election in the bag.” The Operative said, releasing Trump’s hand and motioning for Trump to sit. ‘How many gaffs have we had to gloss over for this guy?’ The Operative thought to himself.

   “As to that, James, How can you know for sure I will win? The polls…“, Trump began, his insecurity obvious to ‘James’.

Holding up his hand in a silencing gesture, while seating himself, The Operative, with a sigh, said, “Mr. Trump, I want you to remember a Quote - and then not bother with that worry again. Are you listening carefully?” Trump nodded.

   "It is not the people who vote that count. It's the people who count the votes.” said The Operator.

After a couple of seconds, and to show his historical knowledge Trump said, “Hitler.”

   “Stalin,” The Operative responded.

   “So the voting is rigged?” Trump asked, “That is not just a rumor?”

   “‘Rigged’ is too strong a word, Mr. Trump. ‘Adjusted’ would be more accurate. There can’t be too much difference between the ‘counted votes’ and the exit polls, after all. But, in a close race, a nudge here and there makes all the difference we need in key states and with a clearer win; we can make it a ‘mandate’; if we wish.”

   “But how?” Trump said, genuinely disturbed by this revelation that the vote in America was… what; a fraud?

   “Why do you think there is no paper balloting?” responded The Operator blandly to this show of naivete' from the man who would soon be President of the United States. “‘No paper-trail’ of verifiable paper ballots?” he continued.  “For convenience or speed? Really? As if waiting a few days matters in getting the results.”

   Leaning forward and looking Trump straight in the eye The Operator said, “The programs that control  the ballot counters are ‘propriety property’ of the corporations that make them, Donald,  and protected by law from being reviewed, even by Congress. And who owns the corporations? We do.”

   Seeing Trump was truly disturbed by this revelation, and not wanting Trump’s confidence and self-image damaged too much, or God forbid; he someday have a crisis of conscience and go all John Kennedy; The Operator relaxed back in his chair. He continued, “Not that any of our actions would be necessary, Mr. Trump, if it were a fair election from the other side.” He waved his hand dismissively. (This was a calculated gesture meant to wipe away the disturbing and reset the mind of ‘the subject’. Such was the reason for all his studies in human behavior. Body language is not just readable; it coveys powerful subconscious messages - and therefor reactions - if used properly.)

Trump cocked his head in a questioning matter. “Huh?” he said.

   “Mr. Trump, have you not been listening to yourself?” The Operative asked with a shake of his head.     “How much of your campaign is based on illegals? Yes, we give you the subjects and a bit of coaching for your speeches, but most of what you are saying is true; and the people you attract know it. If Hillary weren’t having illegals, the dead, and multiple registrations voting for her, we could have saved a lot of time, and effort. Americans damn near need an ID to pick their nose! But to vote, nothing- but a registrar willing to let anyone vote, as many times as they like. The Democrats can justify ‘The end justifies the means.’ as well as anyone, but the kind of people who support you and your message have some sense of honor, or at least the real grass root do.  We are just balancing the field, so to speak. Donald, we did not come to you because we did not, with certainly, know you could beat her. Your election is legitimate, Mr. Trump.  But I now remind you, again, that it is we who made it happen for you.”                                                                                           

   “Now let’s move on to why I came today. There are two things we need to discuss. The motif, if you will, for your terms in office and the structure of your administration.”

   “Motif?”, Asked Trump.

   “Yes, perhaps ‘character’ or ‘theme’ would be better terms for your understanding.” The Operative said. He leaning back interlaced his fingers over his stomach and with an air of one telling a story continued. “Pick a President, what is remembered of his administration? Kennedy is remembered most for being killed, of course, but to those old enough; not those too young to get the sanitized, public school version, remember him as a Peoples’ President, one who spoke of Corruption and Secret Societies. Obama? Charismatic, socialist, Black and… Muslim? Many Presidents have little to be remembered for. You, my dear Mr. Trump, will not be one of them.”

   “Why is that?” Asked Trump

   Sitting forward again and with a sense of excitement, (Again the projecting of mood through body language studied and practiced to elicit the same from the subject of the exercise.) The Operative said,    “Because your Presidency will be Championship Wrestling writ large, no, VERY LARGE, President Trump.”      

   His Passion seemingly rising, his visage intense, the Operative delivered an act that would have gained him an Oscar. “You will be embattled; your own party members will turn on you, even some who now support you. Your former associates will turn on you. The Press will hate you and spew non-stop Trump Hate! Your promised changes to the Washington Bureaucracy, your wall, all will be stymied by the ‘Deep State!’” This last said while making ‘air quotes’. “You will be attacked from all sides,… and your people will love you for it.”

   “Ummm…, that does not sound like much fun to me.”, Trump said. “Sounds like a lot of fighting, a whole lot of fighting…, a lot of fighting.”

   With a grin, the Operative told Trump. “But it’s all Theater, Donald. Relax! None, or damned little of it, is real!” Wondering at Trump not already being prepared for this he thought, ‘William, you fucked up!’. Not letting his anger show at the incomplete, if not incompetent, job done by one of his underlings, The Operative continued with his presentation.

    “Yes, there will be those who really do hate you, but for the most part they will be the idiot ‘liberals’ that always needs someone to hate because their lives are so empty of facts and real purpose that they only have worth by being in the ‘Woke’ crowd. Heck, there will even be protests and counter protests, some fools might even get violent, but it will not be your people who get violent, it will be ‘theirs’, and your people will love you all the more for having been attacked for being ‘MAGA folks’ while the ‘Liberals’ did nothing to stop the violence by thugs with their faces covered.”

   “So I will be remembered as a bad President that caused division?”

   Realizing that Trump was at a nexus and wanting to have a break to think through how to properly handle this, The Operator asked to use the men’s room.

   While relieving himself, he really did need to anyway, the Operative thought, ‘WTF! William screwed this up! He was supposed to have gradually, over the course of the campaign, gotten all this bullshit set in Trump’s mind! We can’t change horses now and I have to deal with this? Really! I need to get to The List! How do I get this guy to understand, once and for all, that he is just to play his roll? How much does he need to know now? Will he talk too much, get caught talking to those who are playing the game and thereby expose the game? Some prick like that Project Veritas asshole could…,’.  And then it hit him; the perfect example to show Trump!... ‘When I get out of here today, William will learn the price of failure! A yacht fire? No, you are thinking with your balls, and why waste a nice boat? Drown while scuba diving? Yeah, that will do nicely….’.   The Operator, drying his hands at the sink thought ‘The rewards of success and the price of failure are high in this ‘Game of Thrones’ and no ends are left loose - if you were let loose… . That is why I must not fail.’

   Settling back in his chair again, The Operative continued. “Now, let’s get back to where we were Donald. I think you still don’t grasp the amount of thought, time and planning that has gone into our endeavor, so I am going to give you a glimpse of the future-past, just a glimpse. You know Jeff Zucker. He made you a household name by airing The Apprentice on NBC…”

   “Yeah, he has been a real prick towards me at CNN,” Interrupted Trump. “I want to call him but your people said that that could be disastrous.” Trump groused.

   “And it could be, Donald.” The Operative said seriously. “It was no coincidence that Zucker moved from NBC to CNN. We moved him precisely so he could operate as needed in this election.

   “But that was what, 2013?” asked Trump.

   “Yes! Now you are starting to get the picture. Though we were not, at that time sure who we would run; he was moved so he would drive whatever narrative we needed and he has done wonderfully. Both of you have benefited greatly by his negative coverage of you. CNN’s ratings have skyrocketed and you benefit from always being attacked by ‘The Liberal Press”. The Operative continued.

   “That is the beauty of your campaign, it is feeling the pulse of the average American who sees his country being destroyed, sees the problems, but has no one in Washington that is really ‘His guy’. He sees it in you, and that you are being treated unfairly by the Press, so his knee-jerk response is to support you, trust you, and have faith in you. That faith will be very important for your Presidency.”

   “So Jeff is not really my enemy, he is helping me with this coverage?” Trump said, rubbing his temples. 'This is hard to grasp.' He thought.

   “Exactly!  And that is why you must not have contact with him, except under conditions we set up. We can’t risk having this get out; the damned Bloggers would go ballistic.”

   “Oh, Ok… Ok,” Trump said, finally understanding the lengths his benefactors had taken. He felt a cold lump in his gut. ‘What have I done?’ He thought. ‘I am too far in to back out. These people really could snuff me out if I cross them. Well, I will be President, even if not my own man.’

   “Ok,” Trump repeated, fully accepting his roll. “What next?”

   Reaching to the other chair before the desk, opening his briefcase and removing a file folder, The Operative said, “Here is the list of your appointments;” Passing over four pages of paper. “Take your time, and review them. While you do that, I have to reach out to some people.”

   While Trump was looking at his new Cabinet, with short bios on each; The Operator put out a ‘recall’ on the handler who had so fouled up. It would be done so much better than Hillary’s people did with Seth Rich…

   After some time Trump said, pointing to the page in front of him with the gold Trump logoed pen he had been using to underscore some of the items, “James, some of these people, no - all of these people are the same people I have been campaigning against. Wilbur Ross? Commerce Secretary? I know him, he helped me keep my chairmanship in the Taj Mahal bankruptcy, but this guy is as Globalist as it gets. And Gina Haspel, CIA Director? I read about her, wasn’t she involved in torture and trying to cover it up? Hell they call the bitch, ‘Bloody Gina’!  ‘Mad Dog Mattis,’ as Secretary of Defense? I promised to get us out of the wars. And  Barr?! This guy is a Bush…”

   Imperiously holding up a hand to Trump, The Operative said. “Donald, these are who you will appoint.”

   “But NONE of them that I recognize are the kind of people I have been promising!” exclaimed Trump. “The People will be angry.”

   “No they won’t, or at least not enough of them to matter.” The Operative said calmly, hardly looking up from his secure PDA.

   “How is that?” asked Trump.

   “Do you remember what I said about faith and how your voters will have it in you?”

Trump nodded.

   “Americans are intellectually lazy, Donald. Most of your supporters will continue to support you regardless of who you appoint, or for that matter what you do. They are emotionally invested and will not accept that they are not getting what they wanted. We have already seen to that. Our Trolls will be there to call anyone who points these things out any myriad of trigger names. And then there is ‘Q’ and their Psyop.”  With a chuckle he said. “Now that is one amazingly effective operation. Anyway; ‘Better than Hillary’ will go a very long way against any criticism of you.”

   Standing, to put his PDA in its case on his belt, The Operative offered his hand to Trump. “No need to get up, ‘Mr. President’, but I really must get to other matters today.”

Trump, half rising from his chair to take the proffered hand said, “I will review these names and get with you… “

   With eyes as cold as death, The Operative applied near crushing pressure to Trump’s hand and said, “I will get with you, Donald, when I deem it necessary. You just listen to our advisors, and let us do the thinking, understood?”

   Without another word, The Operative walked out, not bothering to close the door behind him.

   Trump, with elbows on his desk put his face in his hands; ‘Championship wrestling’ indeed.  ‘How did I let myself in for this.’ 


Setting- Trump’s Mar-a-Lago estate, Trump's Study, late evening. Circa; one year after Trump's election. 

  "What the fuck, James!" Trump yelled as The Operator walked in. "I feel like anyone associated with me is going to be trashed and even with both Houses I can't get shit done! I am President! You motherfuckers told me to appoint these people, now all hell is about to break loose!" Where the fuck have you been?!"

   "Donald, calm down." The Operative said as he closed the door calmly.

   Then he wheeled on Trump, and in three strides had the President of the United States by the throat in a grip that promised death. 

   "If you ever do that again; compromise all our work with an open door, you are a dead man!" 'James' snarled into Trump's ear before throwing him into his chair behind the desk. Your bumbling and fucking Tweets are problem enough!" He hissed. "do you think we picked Pence for you for no reason? At this point, if you don't tread carefully he will be in that chair, and not because you 'resigned'...."




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Comment by James Roberts on October 24, 2019 at 10:49am

Yeah, he's just a reality TV star and construction businessman.

"Destroying the New World Order"


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