The man was what you’d call a political consultant.
He was sitting at his desk at the back of the house, taking one last look at the photographs. Although primarily involved in giving advice regarding the running of political campaigns, his speciality was opposition research. Quite apart from being very good at it, he always derived a great deal of pleasure from stitching people up. This had been a magnificent victory for his client and a lucrative one for himself. He checked the time. His visitor would arrive soon. Minutes later the front doorbell chimed. He let the man in, while sporting a beaming smile. They went through to the consultant’s room and sat across the desk from one another.
The consultant said, “You’ve heard, I take it?”
“I certainly have, papers and TV are full of it. It went exactly the way you said it would. Everyone else is in a state of shock.”
The consultant looked down at the half-dozen prints lying on his desk, face down between them.
His visitor said, “How’d you pull it off, that’s what I want to know?”
“Leverage.”
“How’s that?”
“Leverage. It’s what it’s all about, you know.”
His visitor started to say, “I’m not sure I….”
The consultant cut him off. “It’s incredibly simple really. It’s an action brought about when a rigid bar or pole is used to pivot at point A, to move a given object at point B, while applying pressure or force at point C.” While saying this he drew an imaginary illustration in the air with his finger. “Didn’t someone say, give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world?”
“Archimedes.”
“That’s him!”
The other repeated, “I just don’t believe it. I mean, how does one really swing an election?”
The other looked lovingly at his photographs as he slid them back into the envelope. “Wonderful pictures! Blew them up, you know. Amazing what detail you can see when you blow them up. Did it here on my own equipment, of course. Nobody sees these. This afternoon they go into hiding.” He sealed the A4 envelope and held it to his chest.
Realising what the other had done, the visitor said, “You’ll find some clever secret place for them, I suppose.”
“Oh! Yes, I’ll bury them, you can be sure of that.”
His visitor looked worried. “Not at all sure why you are telling me all this.”
“Ah! I always saw you as an astute fellow; astute but not big on the prediction of human behaviour in your fellow man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s about complicity, isn’t it?”
The other looked shocked. “Complicity?”
“Yes, you know the sort of thing; in collusion with, conniving in some scheme or other. In a case like this, he tapped the envelope, who can say how extensive the penalties could become. It’s not a gamble I’d like to take.” He opened a drawer, dropped the envelope in and pulled out a form. The application was fully made out. He pushed it across the desk. “It only requires a signature,” he said, with a smile.
The other picked it up. “What’s this?”
“Oh! A minor matter. For some reason, the golf club is being unreasonable about giving me membership. Something about a long waiting list, but you being the treasurer, well, your sponsorship should fix it, don’t you think?”
After thinking about it for a moment, his visitor took a pen from his pocket. “Leverage,” he mumbled under his breath, as he signed.