Peter Smolt had spent his early childhood in a simple village far from the city that was to become his home. His parents were strict but kind, not at all like typical villagers who just want their children to become robotnik, mechanistic workers, tilling the soil and harvesting the crops.
They wanted him to be literate. They knew of the great works, but those works were hidden from them. As simple villagers it had never been a priority to teach them to read.
At school, Peter was a curious and hard working student. It was also an age of emancipation, and his teachers encouraged him to go to university.
University suited Peter really well. He could study history and politics, subjects that fascinated him. He read all the way from Adam Smith to Karl Marx and back again. He joined clubs where he could debate with others the virtues of each of the different philosophies.
It was only natural, therefore, for Peter to be drawn to the world of real politics, and he entered politics at quite an early age, 27.
His career blossomed.
He gained a reputation for honesty, a quality rare among politicians in any age, and particularly rare in these days of fake news and fake claims.
His honesty had led to many obstacles in his rise to the top of the political pyramid. Colleagues feared him for they had secrets they would rather be kept hidden.
Smolt took a practical approach to the dilemma that this created. He did not seek to pry into the private lives of his colleagues. Their personal secrets were their own, but if he found corruption he was relentless in tracking it down and exposing it.
One of the most famous incidents was the case of the corrupt Finance Minister Geert Volderman. Although the papers were full of the story of his downfall, little was said at the time, of Peter Smolt’s part in it. In fact it was Smolt who first detected the irregularities when he was not much more than a lowly assistant. He worked in the background, quietly collecting and organising evidence until the case was virtually watertight. However he knew his own voice would, at that time, carry little weight, so, using his political skills he found a way to get the file onto the desk of the police commissioner while at the same time ensuring the police commissioner could not ignore it. Smolt, for all his reputation for honesty and integrity was not above skullduggery if it meant corruption could be rooted out.
Slowly, like a stubborn mark on a blackboard, by dogged determination, all of the corruption was erased, and there were none left in government who feared exposure. They had all gone.
The public showed their support for Smolt in every poll. They had long tired of the corruption in politics and seeing politicians lining their own pockets with funds from the public purse.
With such a high level of public acclaim it was inevitable that Smolt would rise to the very top of his party. And now he was First Minister of government; First Minister of the people, elected by the people and working for the people.
This was the image that everyone, including Smolt himself had of him.
But it was flawed.
One morning in early May as he was musing over the state of the State, in his office gazing through the window at the precinct gardens and appreciating the morning sun, glancing off the fresh spring blooms and sparkling in the reflecting pond, a message arrived on his desk. It was convoluted and enigmatic, but he knew what it meant.
In short it meant “The time has come. You are activated.”.
His heart sank as he was immediately taken back to those heady idealistic university days of political and philosophical debate.
The truth was, and Smolt himself had almost forgotten it, that he was not a beacon of honesty and integrity to his country. No, he was a spy.
Smolt may have forgotten, but his handlers never had. In the background they had worked to help make his campaigns successful. They needed their man at the top. They needed a man renowned for integrity. And now they had him.
The people surrounding him could tell there was something seriously wrong. He became morose and indecisive, two traits no-one had ever before seen in him. He paced his oak-panelled office wringing his hands, occasionally stopping to look once again out of the window at nature.
Nature, he felt was non-judgmental, and was the only respite he had from his torment.
He knew of his commitment to his youthful ideals, and his integrity called on him to honour his commitments, but it also called on him to respect his country and the people who had elected him.
After two long agonising days he decided. He was no longer the same man they had recruited so many years before when he was an idealistic young university student. He had by now, given his life to his country.
His handlers had reminded him of his debt to them, listing all the times they had worked behind the scenes to ensure good outcomes for him. He felt he was being blackmailed.
He knew there was only one solution.
His handlers watched in horror when he appeared on TV and told the whole story to the country he had come to love.