 
# The Abacus Equation

### by

### Peter Stremus

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©2010 Peter Stremus

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This is a work of fiction. Story, names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. All resemblance with real characters or situations is pure coincidence. In case a trademark is used, the author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners. The use of these trademarks does not imply any, association with, or sponsoring by the trademark owners.

* * * * *

To Katty, Daphne and Phoebe, the three little women in my life.

### Quis Custodiet ipsos Custodes ?

Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis

first century AD

Chapter 1

She hated the pictures showing an idyllic Indian Ocean. Although it seemed pitch-dark outside, Oona De la Fayetta could descry how the purple waves sprayed maliciously over the coral reef. The heavy overcast rushed in front of the dirty pale moon and did not predict any improvement. Of all nights, precisely now, she had to relieve the watch post on the other side of the atoll. With a careless gesture she arranged her tousled hair and bounced with her fist on the door – not causing any reaction on the other side. She sighed and flung the door open. In her bossiest voice the lieutenant summoned the sleeping men. By no means had she expected an immediate and energetic reaction of men jumping out of their beds, lining up, chest high, as often depicted in American movies. But opening one lazy eye and pulling a pillow over a head was even for her unacceptable. True enough the army had financed her studies in tropical medicine, but that same army had also deemed it necessary to station her for five years in the middle of nowhere. On these occasions she wished she radiated a bit more authority. With most of her fellow officers, male and female, the same men would indeed jump up like springs. She had comforted herself over the past three years with the thought that the army was not her ultimate career choice. However, at two o'clock in the morning it only made her lose her temper. Waspishly she threatened with a week's curfew if the gentlemen were not present in five minutes in the guard room, fully dressed and ready to go. She slammed the door with a bang.

Commander of the guard Jonathan Stratford greeted De la Fayette a bit too clamorous than appropriate – which made her suspect that one or another bottle would be equally empty. He tried to make it up by quickly pushing a cup of hot coffee in her hands.

After five minutes of silence the men came shuffling around and drew up their chairs to the table where some sorts of breakfast was served. The guard room did not differ from any other in the world. Pale green walls, cracks in the ceiling and peeled off paint. The three functioning neon-lamps, a fourth one irritatingly attempted to start in vain, threw an unromantic light on the scene of silent people. A strapping insect \- "everything seems to grow bigger in this climate," thought De la Fayette – scratched on the wall till a rolled up Penthouse slammed it to mash. The heavy army boot of Stratford finished the job. Nobody was interested in the incident. Out of the corner of her eye De la Fayette observed the six men. Some of their faces looked familiar. But there was only one where she could put a name on. She shrugged her shoulders, looked at her watch and decided it was time to get going. Stratford had arrived at the same conclusion and had in the meantime opened the armoury. One by one he started to lay the semi-automatic guns on the table. A package of cigarettes went around. "At least some form of social behaviour," reflected De la Fayette, while she herself refused. The arms were distributed, the loaded magazines were checked and disappeared in different pockets. They lumbered out of the room into the corridor where the rain capes hung meticulously in a row. Stratford knew his remark would be scornful but he could not resist wishing the small platoon a nice watch. De la Fayette disappeared as the last one through the door after she had pushed the, for her hands far too big, gun into her hip-holster. While the double door clapped behind her, the first rain showers swept the island.

No one was in favour of an inspection – certainly not De la Fayette. But she knew that Stratford would be watching from behind the darkened window. And she knew that she would get a nasty remark or worse afterwards if she ignored this part. Much to her own surprise the men started to line up so she could finish the inspection quickly and superficially. The dark rain capes, slapping in the storm and pulled up to the ears of the men, were hiding the slovenliness anyway. Moments later they marched into the darkness to the beach. Stratford tried to follow them as long as possible, but the gales increased and the rain clattered so vigorously on the window that soon he had to give up. With a sigh he unscrewed his bottle of _Southern Comfort –_ the brand was perfectly aligned with the setting – and concentrated on the LCD screen of his laptop. A long list of unopened e-mails gave evidence of his unfaltering efficiency. He hoped aloud that the night had already come to an end.

Bruno Castellini hoped aloud that the night had never started. He was the only one of the stumbling platoon who had not yet experienced the fun of marching around in a tropical storm and had difficulties guessing what was still to come. He muttered crookedly behind the figure before him, assuming it knew where they were heading to. Time and again gusts of wind tried to separate the small group. De la Fayette had already given up to yell against the wind in the hope to increase the pace of the men.

Castellini had come to this base about a year ago. Although he knew the feeling would not last forever, the tropical beauty of the atoll had given him the impression he was attending an all-inclusive club holiday. Admittedly, the entertainment on the base evolved around the good things in life. Beach volley, frisbee, water-ski, wind surfing, diving and also the female part of the camp had been generous in sharing their charms. Probably he was the only one who started this watch in good humour. But since De la Fayette had not bothered to return his friendly _good morning,_ had refused silently the cigarette he presented to her and since his fellow soldiers were not keen on social contact, he decided wisely to display some echo behaviour. They would loosen up, probably. Imagining how De la Fayette would look like without the dirty brown uniform had been his mental occupation for most of the evening, till they stepped outside. Now he tried to imagine how this beach looked like without the deep mud en cutting lukewarm rain. It felt like an eternity, but they had been en route for only fifteen minutes and had not even covered a fourth of the distance. Castellini tried to get to the purpose of this old fashioned patrolling. Was each centimetre of this piece of the earth not monitored and guarded by sophisticated equipment? Had anyone in this damned army ever heard of satellites? Or the military grade Google Maps? Castellini's good humour was quickly flushed away.

Each meter De la Fayette felt more pitiful. She plodded behind her platoon and desperately attempted to keep up with the men. She cursed abysmally one of the many new rules dictating that relieving the guard on the other side of the island, had do be combined with a patrol on foot along the easterly beach. Previously they jumped on a truck from one side to the other, it took them ten minutes and everyone kept dry. They had just passed the second cove, which indicated that they were halfway, when De la Fayette noticed the swaying light. The oscillating glimmer could not be further than fifty meters, but still it disappeared from time to time in the heavy rain. She stopped to peer attentively in the darkness while the rest of the platoon continued to plough through the wet sand. For one moment she was tempted to ignore the light, catch up with her men, without looking back, and pretend nothing had happened. In vain she yelled that the group had to come. Gasping for breath she overtook the small party and ordered them to return. Defying a mix of angry and apathetic looks, she tried to get across that they needed to go back on their steps and investigate _something_ more closely. Unmotivated and unorderly they made their way across the beach. Some of the soldiers switched on their torches and searched the waterline. The strong beams tried to penetrate the darkness but nothing could be found. After five minutes everyone, including Oona herself, was convinced she had imagined the whole light or had seen a ghost. The group made it clear they had enough of it when Castellini perceived a long shadow encircled by a weak corona. He pointed his flashlight to the shadow and drew the other's attention. Slightly curious they scudded towards their discovery.

Castellini was the first to reach the stranded boat that was already buried halfway in the sand and mud. The white navigation light in the mast tried desperately to produce a weak shimmer. But it would only be a matter of minutes for the battery to be exhausted and to black out the light completely. De la Fayette estimated that the ship was about ten meters long. It had a single cabin in the centre of the hull. She had often seen this type cruising between the many islands of the Chagos Archipelago. The small boats were used as multi-purpose freighters and fishing vessels. The boat appeared, as she had expected, to be deserted. They spent some time examining the wreck with their flashlights and concluded that they were looking at nothing more than some old barge. Cut adrift after it broke away from its mooring in the storm. Nothing was mysterious or exciting about it. They started to realize that without this great find of De la Fayette, they would have been already at least half an hour in the dry and warm shelter of the guard room at the other side of the island. Ostentatiously they switched off their torches and put them back in their pouches. A bit disappointed she ordered the group to continue their way. Starting a stiff pace, the platoon marched up the beach until a few moments later De la Fayette stumbled.

When Stratford finally understood from De la Fayette's confusing account that he should come along, it took another ten minutes before the Land Rover had made its way through the muddy beach to join the platoon. Arriving, he saw the small group of men who had lost all hope to be dry that night and a somewhat pale De la Fayette. He jumped out of the vehicle and thanks to the guaranteed watertight cape he was soaked to the bone in exactly fourteen seconds. He started to feel compassionate for the men who had been exposed to this weather for more than an hour.

When he aimed his strong torch at what De la Fayette was pointing at, he remarked redundantly: " _that gentlemen, is a very dead man_."

* * *

Chapter 2

Pieter Van Dyck stretched sluggishly. Although it was barely morning, all signs were present that it would turn into a long and hot day. The storm of last night had not succeeded to dissipate the sultry weather from the past weeks. On the contrary, the sun already scorched at this early hour the micro solar cells mounted on the flat roof of the house. Those cells ensured that the air conditioning spread an even but freezing air current through the room. Pieter did not feel like leaving his comfortable position, but the flashing icon on the computer's flatscreen alerted him there was an urgent message waiting.

"Rise," said the one voice in his head.

"Give yourself another quarter, that message will not go anywhere," said the other voice.

"It will certainly not disappear," answered Pieter his two internal voices, "that's what I am afraid of."

Dozing off for an hour, he awoke with a start as his two day old stubbles got entangled in the mosquito-net. With some bickering he got out of bed, he pushed the net aside en took a seat at the small table packed with computers and communication equipment. He opened his mail program and skimmed through a series of new messages preceded by a red exclamation mark.

Languidly he tapped the keyboard en watched the most recent video message. It came from John Freeman, the chief air traffic controller of Diego Garcia's watchtower and head of the rescue service in the region. Van Dyck had expected the message. Not only would the few eccentrics who still inhabited the atolls of Chagos invariably be contacted after any tropical storm to be checked upon. But the owners of airplanes (all the eccentrics having one) would also be requested to make as soon as possible a reconnaissance flight within a hundred kilometre radius to search for castaways. This time a sailing boat got into trouble. John's message ended with the GPS coordinates and the radio frequency on which the unlucky crew could be reached. There was no time for a coffee. At least, if he accepted the urgency of the message.

He sighed deeply, checked his watch to estimate how old the message already was and strolled to the bathroom. In the mirror he looked at his rough stubby beard and his grooved tanned face. His _special assignment_ on what probably could be considered the most deserted corner of the world had run to three years. That started to show. Although he had well passed his mid forties, the small wrinkles around his eyes and his short greying hair gave him the looks of a sharp but naughty boy. Not that there was someone on the island who would care. Van Dyck happened to be the only – human - inhabitant. But he had not lost completely some sense of vanity. He quickly jumped under the rain shower and minutes later he stepped outside.

Dressed in shabby Bermuda trousers and T-shirt, with short protecting surf boots and a reversed baseball cap, Pieter gasped for breath to cope with the sudden temperature and humidity difference. He turned around – after walking a couple of meters on the large grass square – to get a good view on the house.

It was built in the eighteenth century in the typical French colonial style. It continued to astonish Pieter that they, whomever _they_ were, had been capable of building a small castle on a lost island situated at the other side of the world. The expected flourishing business from copra was the hype of that century and multiple investors poured money in that trade hoping for a manifold return on investment. As with all hypes, it disappeared quickly and the region was again quickly abandoned. The austere freestone stairs led to a wide double door which was on both sides symmetrically flanked by three large windows. The upper floor seemed to be a mirror image of the lower floor. But instead of a door there was a protruding round balcony bordered by short pillars. The flat roof housed, carefully hidden, the solar panels and two small satellite dishes. Although the climate had inevitably left its marks, the house was remarkably well conserved. It had clearly been constructed to defy the centuries.

At first sight there was no visible damage, except for a loose severed blind that squeaked slowly around its last remaining hinge. The sharp noise of the breaking blind had woken him up earlier that night, but he had been too lazy in his bed to go out and check it. He had ignored the noise and had fallen quickly asleep again.

Relieved he continued his tour. He passed through a worn out iron fence which gave passage to the beach. As always after a storm, the beach was polluted by driftwood, dissolving jelly-fish, rotten starfish and a lot of black seaweed. That predicted again hours of cleaning with a broad raker to restore the beach into its white postal card state. One of the overhanging palm trees had collapsed and wobbled torn with the swell of the waves.

"Fortunately my hammock is still intact," he thought. "But now I will need to find a new favourite tree."

Pieter lived on the most southern and largest part of the Egmont Islands, called _Ile Sudest_. A series of atolls belonging to the Chagos Archipelago which, administratively, resorted under the British Indian Ocean Territory. The largest and most important island was Diego Garcia. Important, because Diego Garcia hosted a prominent naval base of the American and British Navy. That base had its glory period during the second half of the twentieth century, spanning the years from the cold war to the different gulf wars. But over the past decades, the base had lost its strategic purpose and had been slowly sliding into oblivion. The past years, only a skeleton staff was kept at the base for maintenance and simple operations. The staff themselves the first to wonder why the base was not closed all together. The Egmont islands formed a characteristic atoll. A half circle of small land masses surrounded by a reef on which the waves burst endlessly. The reef surrounding Egmont was interrupted in some places with shallow channels. This brought the unique advantage that one did not have to circle the full island to reach the protecting north side and the internal calm waters. Pieter had not yet figured out whether those channels were a natural phenomenon or if man had assisted nature with dynamite.

The easy access made the island popular with world travellers and sailors keen to insert a break in their voyage to spend a couple of days at the isolated beaches and become Pieter's guest.

Fortunately even today the number of world sailors was rather limited. And Pieter did not feel like being known for running the most remote _bed and breakfast_ on earth.

He followed the beach up north and reached a large wooden mooring adjoined by a massive boathouse. The centuries old pier ran for at least twenty meters into the protected waters of the lagoon. Pieter had to admire the craftsmanship by which this massive construction was put in place. The black pylons, made from rough tropical hardwood, disappeared deep in the clear blue water and were strongly anchored into the rocky bottom of the lagoon. Robust logs and planks were seamlessly joined through wooden pegs giving the whole an indestructible appearance. Cast iron bollards, ordered mathematically alongside the pier, ensured a secure anchorage for the large sea-plane that gently swayed on the few waves.

The plane was Pieter's pride. When he first arrived on the Chagos Islands, the local instances had put the plane from nineteen hundred fifty five at his disposal. The machine belonged in a museum, but apparently someone in the administration had decided in a burst of frugality that it should last another couple of years as cheap reconnaissance plane.

He clambered on the large over-wing and untied the carefully attached camouflage-net which served as a protective tarpaulin against the rain and wind gusts of the past days. He opened a couple of hatches and peeked through the holes to check the engines. A gush of lukewarm briny water spouted on him as he opened carelessly a valve. He was afraid this forebode that starting the old engines was going to be quite an endeavour. Grumpily he knocked randomly on the wing, listening to the different tones as if trying to find a rotten spot in a wall. He untied the rest of the wet knots. Carefully he coiled the ropes around his stretched arm and disappeared in the boat house where he threw them over some hooks on the ceiling so they could dry. Before he left the boat house, he quickly checked the large brand-new _semi-rib_ which was securely moored against the roofed-in jetty. The black twelve meter boat was the modern sailing counterpart of the old plane.

Limberly Pieter crawled into the main cabin of the plane. He bumped his head against the low door-frame, cursed in Flemish and pushed himself into the cockpit. He shoved the worn pilot-seat forward till his knees edged against the instrument panel and made contact.

Only after several attempts the first engine sputtered and cautiously he revved up. With a fairly graceful turn he steered out of the lagoon while also the second engine got going irregularly. Although the swell of the open sea was still heavy, the plane gained speed and lifted off from the waves in a cloud of spraying droplets and foam. Van Dyck got ready to complete his reconnaissance flight around the island. He climbed to five hundred feet and headed towards the west to make a couple of complete turns. Attentively he looked down to the atoll screening for damage, but at first sight the storm had only uproot a handful of palm trees. The unkept coconut trees were the prime vegetation of the island and Pieter was glad that they had not been hit too much by the storm. He hated it when he had to cut the fallen trees blocking the paths on the island. The few animals living on the atoll had gathered collectively at the most northern part, where the protection was the highest because of the slight elevation. Now the storm was over, they started to spread into the bushes again. "All in all not too bad," Pieter thought, "when I am back I'll be chasing pigs for a change." Besides the green spots of the islands there was nothing to see on the endless blue surface. He put on his headphones and established contact with the traffic controller of Diego Garcia.

" _Red Knight_ calling DG control tower."

"Good morning, Pieter. This is John."

"Not too many lost Volvo Cuppers this year."

"Indeed, but there is always one. Did you receive my messages?"

"Afraid so. I am already on my way."

"Did you say _already_ on your way? With you speed they probably have drowned by now."

"You are so very funny. Are there new coordinates?"

"Yes, there is a lot of current in that area this time of year. You will receive them on your GPS receiver. However, the crew did contact me a couple of times in the meantime. Each time a bit more panicking. Not surprisingly since I told them that help would come momentarily."

"My aircraft gives a completely new dimension to the notion fast. Do you have information about the crew?"

"Yes, they are two retired tax controllers from Switzerland. They don't speak a word of English. As Belgian I suppose you speak some _Swi_ ss?"

"I will deploy my best _Swiss_ and drop them _linea recta_ at your place. Over and Out."

The white dot soon became a yacht listing heavily to starboard under the snapped mast. The main sail was scooping water, dragging the boat deeper and deeper in the water, making it impossible to straighten it back. Probably the crew had not been able to reef down the sails – or they had foolishly bet that their mast could withstand the powers of the storm.

Pieter descended a bit more and circled slowly around the ship. Based on their enthusiastic waving it was obvious that the two on board were happy and relieved to spot the plane. Again he made contact with Diego Garcia's control tower.

"Pieter calling Diego Garcia control tower."

"Please go ahead."

"A forty footer or so taking in water. I can distinguish two of the crew. Their long hair makes me suspect that the tax controllers have been travelling for a very long time. The name of the yacht is the _Port of Call_ and they are sailing under the Australian flag."

"That must be them. Thanks in advance for picking them up."

"No problem, as long as I can dump them with you."

"You're always welcome here, Pieter."

Pieter removed the pinching headphones and throttled down. The steady humming of the two large engines turned into an irregular murmur only to be interrupted by the clapping noise of the streamlined hull hitting the first wave. The plane bounced and lifted from the surface, finally hitting the waves once more with a loud smack tens of meters further. There it came to a halt, gently rolling on the waves.

He slowly increased the power of the left engine to make sufficient speed to navigate closer to the sinking yacht. He was cross with himself that he could not master a decent landing on the sea. The hard pounding given to the old plane could not always be a great contribution to the strength of the airframe.

Warily he manoeuvred the sea plane into the direction of the yacht. Coming closer he could see that the passengers had already gathered their personal belongings and had stowed it into the rubber dinghy fastened to the stern. Only now could he measure the damage caused by the storm. The snapped mast dragged the boat deep into the water and waves started to gush over the main deck into the cabin. Most likely the machine room had been flooded, breaking down the engine and possibly choking pumps and killing electricity mains. However, there was no acute danger. With some luck, the ship would stay afloat for hours till too much water would have entered the cabin and other parts of the boat. Then it would silently disappear into the deep.

He pushed the main switch and the engine silenced. The clicking and humming of the many systems and relays made place for the soft dashing of the water against the hull. He unlocked the five point safety belt, pushed the pilot's seat to the back and crawled via the small stairways out of the cockpit. When he opened the door, he saw that the two passengers had already boarded the small life boat. One of them made desperate attempts to crank up the miniature outboard motor. Apparently without a lot of success.

Pieter brought his hand above his eyes to observe the scene in more detail.

"Just what we needed. Some rich dudes on a filthily expensive yacht, but none of them ever had the brains to check or try the dinghy's outboard."

After a while, and more futile attempts to get the engine going, the two started to beckon Pieter to come closer. Amused he gestured back that they should start rowing. One of them seemed to get the hint and grabbed clumsily an oar. Without being hampered by any sense of direction he started to row against the waves while the other kept on pulling stubbornly at the start cord. Pieter yawned. This was going to be a case of load and unload as soon as possible.

When they finally came alongside, Pieter threw a safety line which was eagerly caught and attached to the small boat. He pulled the rubber dinghy in front of the cabin door and held out his hand to help his first passenger boarding the airplane. To his big, but secretly happy, surprise the two tax controllers turned out to be two girls. Unstable they first threw some colourful back packs and expensive looking travel bags in the cabin to finally enter themselves, sinking exhaustedly in one of the available passenger seats. Pieter untied the boat and pushed it hard away with the oar. The last thing that he wanted was that the light rubber boat would get caught in one of the propellers when lifting off.

After he closed the door, van Dyck watched his guests and almost felt pity for them. He could not imagine that they had checked themselves before a mirror lately. Behind the dark blue rims under the eyes, the salt-crusted hair, cleaved lips and soaked clothing, there were probably two people hidden between twenty five and thirty years of age. Two people who, a couple of days ago, waved and laughed as they cheerfully sailed away on their snow white yacht from an Australian harbour.

It seemed that none of them was inclined to start a conversation, so van Dyck coughed once to catch there attention.

"My name is Pieter van Dyck, the unluckiest fellow in a radius of a hundred miles. Unlucky because I intended to sleep in this morning but you were so kind as to shipwreck close to _my_ island while you could have picked tens of others. So I missed my breakfast and my morning coffee. Since I can imagine fairly well what you have gone through last night, I assume you are too tired to talk about it now. However, I need your names. It is a matter of having a full passenger list on board this fine piece of machinery operated by Air van Dyck."

After some hesitation, the first girl whom he helped entering the plane, started. She spoke with an unmistakable _Aussie_ accent, taking away any doubt that they indeed originated from that part of the world.

"I am Jane Hutton and that is my little sister Jackie. We departed from Adelaide last week, intending to follow the route of the Volvo Cup. And that while all weather reports clearly indicated that it was not the best season of the year to sail around this area. But no, my dear sister wanted it and would have it her way."

"Ah," was Jackie's snappy answer, "just shut up".

Jane wanted to react but Pieter was too fast: "Ok, this is all very enlightening and I don't need to know more. Nor do I want to, honestly. Fasten yourself tightly onto the seats. Taking off can be rather bumpy. And ... _enjoy this short flight with us_."

He got back in the cockpit and made radio contact with John.

"This is the almighty saviour of pathetic castaways. "

"Ok, this is John. What did you catch in your nets, Red Knight?"

"The family Jay-Jay."

"Really? I could have sworn I heard another name."

"May I introduce you to the Hudsons? Jane and Jackie. I am sure that their father is called James and the dog listens to Jack. Their yacht is, or better was, the _Port of Call_ with home port Adelaide."

"Our family name is Hutton and not Hudsons," Jane corrected.

Without being disturbed, Pieter continued his sarcastic conversation with the control tower. Jane shrugged her shoulders and wondered warily why did they had to be picked up by an oversized child.

"They both seem to be in good order and health. But of course we will only know for sure after they have been washed and cleaned thoroughly."

"Nice work, Pieter. This is sufficient to alert their families that the lost offspring has been recovered."

"Well, than we will be on our way to their luxury hotel on Diego."

"Sure, pop in – at this moment there is not a lot of traffic in the area but that will change later on. It promises to be a busy day today."

They closed the conversation and Pieter thought: "no, no, for me it will be quiet for the rest of the day once I drop those two." He smiled at the idea of lingering in his hammock between two new trees for the rest of the afternoon.

He started the engines and was relieved, in a macho manner, that they ignited immediately.

The airplane bounced and jumped on the waves as it gathered speed. Both the passengers sat straight, uncomfortably. The old plane cracked and made ominous noises. Jackie and Jane tightened their worn out seat belts to the maximum while they looked intensely outside the oval windows. A bitten fingernail fell on the ground. With a last firm drone that shook them heavily, the plane slowly lifted in the air. Pieter turned to gain height and to look one last time at the sinking yacht. His voice cracked over the intercom: "well people, take a good look at her. The chances that she is still afloat tomorrow are very slim."

He had the impression that the ship already lied deeper in the water than an hour ago. Van Dyck shook his head compassionately. A fine yacht did not deserve to end this way.

He switched off the _fasten seatbelts_ sign, realising that it was the first time he had used it. Actually, he had never taken more than two passengers. The last time was years ago. And they were his two flight instructors who had soon been drunk on the whiskey they smuggled in the plane between the islands.

Pieter looked in the reverse mirror and saw the two girls gazing in front of them, silently.

A couple of miles before the landing, Pieter broke the silence. In his fake captain voice he proclaimed:

"We will be arriving shortly on what will be your home for the next couple of days, namely the naval base of Diego Garcia. Please ensure that your seat belts are securely fastened and the table in front of you is in its upward position. I forgot, there are no tables in this plane."

His joke was not understood nor appreciated.

"And Jane, would you be so kind as to check that your luggage is secure? I don't want to see it gliding towards the front of the plane to help us with a nose dive. Thanks."

The RPM of the engines lowered slowly as he pushed the large gas handles above him. With some slight pressure on the circular yokel, the aircraft left its horizontal course and started to glide towards the blue surface of the sea.

At that moment, Jane crawled into the cockpit and took place in the co-pilot's seat. She put on the second set of headphones which was dangling from a retracted switch. She fiddled with some buttons till finally her voice came through on Pieter's headphone.

"Amazing that this still flies," it sounded mockingly in his ears.

He could not resist a smile. "Well, for the moment it even _floats_ better than your vessel."

"I always wanted to sit in front of the cockpit to witness a landing."

"Oh really?"

"I love to fly on my flight simulator at home."

"What a coincidence. That is where I learned to fly myself! Now you can assist me with the landing. I am still not getting that right."

"What about putting the flaps at twenty degrees?"

She pulled a handle that was mounted against a scale of five to sixty till an arrow arrived at a rusty twenty.

"Flaps on twenty" she confirmed while a scraping sound vibrating through the plane affirmed the flaps shoved out of the wing.

"Flaps to forty," commanded Pieter, "and don't pull too hard. Her forty is very sensitive."

"Flaps to a gentle forty."

Pieter called the control tower which had now come into visual range.

"Control tower, we are almost there. Please confirm clearance to land."

"Hello this is John. We already saw you and we know what you have been doing. You can land alongside the harbour and come in immediately. And don't descend too steeply. Don't make a hole in the sea. Please."

The landing in front of Diego's shore was a copy of the previous one. A noisy blow that shook the passengers roughly.

"Probably one of your best landings," said Jane.

"It sure was," he answered happy with himself.

For one reason or another, he was in a very good humour. Despite the hunger he now started to feel.

* * *

Chapter 3

John Freeman reclined his lumpish body. The wooden swivel chair practically splintered under the weight. He sipped at his mug of black coffee.

From the panoramic control tower he had watched Pieter's not very elegant touch down. He muttered in his red-copper moustache that it had been a good idea to provide Pieter with a sea plane so that he would not damage the runway with his artistic interpretation of a landing. But being a lover of antique planes, his heart broke each time when he witnessed Pieter's ill treatment of the craft.

"Wow, Pieter, that was a great landing. I hope you did not just rescue those good people to let them die in your soapbox."

"Hi, you're welcome. It is getting better by the day. And no, they are still alive. A bit startled and stiff, but that is because of the cold," answered Pieter smartly.

John grinned. With an average day temperature of thirty eight degrees Celsius _cold_ still had to be invented in this part of the world. With his square stature and hundred thirty kilo it was for John a torture to even leave the air conditioned control tower and cross the few streets to his quarters. Something he did as little as possible so that his colleagues suspected that he preferred to sleep in the control tower.

"You know where to moor. I am sending someone to pick up your cargo and then we'll meet in the bar. Does that sound like a plan to you?"

"Sprouted from a brilliant mind," replied Pieter.

John had his reasons to be worried. Exactly today he expected five passenger jets, loaded with high ranked officials and military brass. For years, the naval base had been downgraded from a bustling strategic military centre in the middle of the Indian Ocean, to an almost abandoned outpost of which everyone questioned the purpose and benefit. At the beginning of the twenty first century, the British government had finally decided to declare the area as the largest maritime park in the world. Not too early, as it had turned out, since the over-fishing of the oceans had taken on disastrous dimensions. Diego Garcia remained a military base of the United States. But at the concrete quays where warships, frigates, minesweepers and the occasional aircraft carrier used to moor, there now lied maritime research vessels from around the world.

The arrival of these vessels with their civic crews attracted the siblings from the original population of the island, the Chagosians. Although not officially supported by the British government, a small group went back to the island from which their grandparents were deported by that same government in the nineteen seventies. They settled around the coast and their small dwellings and businesses were condoned by the few American military personnel whose only wish was to finally be released from their boring duty.

But a few months ago the situation was abruptly reversed. The island turned into a hundred percent military naval basis and the civic ships were kindly but firmly sent away to the surrounding atolls. The Chagosians who had finally been able to build a simple but rewarding small business were removed and just like their ancestors without pardon deported to Mauritius. The only difference is that this time they were stowed into large transportation aircraft rather than a filthy cotter. The colourful stalls and small cosy bars which they had built were closed or pulled down.

First the big cargo planes landed. Then arrived jet-loads of engineers, followed by soldiers, special forces and more soldiers. The relaxed life of the base had to make place for the strict regime of a military operation. Parts of the atoll were closed and declared off limits unless you had special permissions. Ultra modern communication equipment replaced the old parabolic antennas and prefab barracks were built in rapid succession. Freeman was particularly disturbed by the secretiveness. He was now for more than ten years the leader of the control tower and together with the other _habitués_ they formed a close little group. A group where everyone trusted each other and where there was no place for secrets. He did not like it that his world had been turned upside down just like that.

And just as if this was not enough, the new base commander had issued a general curfew.

That decision had not been well received. Especially since the only social activity on the island was the comfort of the bar.

It was in that bar that Peter drank gluttonously from his cold bottle of beer. Jane entered with a brand new kit bag which she threw carelessly next to him on the ground. She mounted one of the barstools. She still looked rather dirty and unhappy.

"My dream comes true. I can now dress out with the fashionable local attire. Khaki seems to be the must have colour this summer. Can I also get a beer while I am waiting? Till Jackie finally leaves the only shower where civilians are allowed. What is going on here?"

At that moment also De la Fayette and Castellini entered the bar and upon noticing Pieter, made their way enthusiastically to him. They both still looked a bit grey from the past night. None of them had taken any sleep so far.

"Well well, who is here?" Oona laughed. "A high visit of our most esteemed and beloved hermit. What brings you here? Weren't you here a week ago? Did you already miss me?"

Pieter let the questions flow and answered them all at the same time. "Yes, that too. But I had to rescue two female sailors from a terrible death by drowning. She is one of them."

Oona studied Jane's appearance.

"Oh poor thing. A woman can have bad luck in her life. What would be the worst? Stay on the ship and go down or be rescued by someone like Pieter?"

She held out her hand: "My name is Oona De la Fayette. And this is Bruno Castellini."

Pieter looked at her and Bruno attentively: "tell me, you both look a bit worn out. Did you both spend a rough night together or is there still nothing going on between the two of you?"

"Pfff, you know very well that you are the only one for me. But I guess I shall have to keep on dreaming," Oona feigned. She continued with an unusually sincere tone.

"No. You know that they have introduced again standing watches. And unfortunately precisely last night, during our shift, we have found a dead man. Washed up. Together with an old barge. You cannot image the heap of paperwork this has created. Not to speak about the effect this all has on Stratford's mood. Next time I pass the honour to someone else. Guaranteed."

Castellini nodded in agreement. "And everyone is already nervously tip-toeing. The dead body will only lead to an increase of watches and even stricter security."

"And you already identified the deceased and how he died?" Pieter asked.

"When we left, no, not yet. But of course these days they are not telling us everything. The commander of the base is as closed as an oyster. Doc Fowler is now doing the autopsy. And Stratford runs around like a grumpy old man because he needs to lead and conclude the investigation. And you know how he is with this kind of things.

"Oh yes" it sounded all of a sudden, "and how is he with those kind of things?"

Oona turned and stared right in the eyes of an angry Stratford. They kept glazing at each other and then burst out in laughter.

Jane, startled because of the appearance and outburst of Stratford, did not understand the situation and looked at Pieter for a clarification.

"Jane ... may I introduce you to the _anciens_ of this god forgotten atoll? The years have calcified their brains so they became one with the reef. Believe me, they have been here so long that their moral borders have become vague and that their behaviour resembles that of those Japanese soldiers who were found after forty years in the jungle. But they firmly believed that the war was still going on. However you also look at a group of friends who, regardless of rank or other differences, make up the dixie club of the island," Pieter explained.

Oona finally replied. "Jonathan Stratford, despite your higher rank you are very well aware of the fact that you are disorganised, that you misplace everything and that you have the ability never to arrive twice at the same outcome in a spreadsheet. Not to mention the e-mails you can never trace back. Or more precisely," she imitated him: "I assure you that I have never received that message. And I am on top of my mail-box. I have no unread messages. Something must be wrong with the server."

Jonathan looked glum and defended himself: "what do you expect? This base has been an oasis of peace and quiet for the past ten years and now we are stuck with a dead body. And in addition we are being overwhelmed by new troops who are running this place like crazy. I can expect endless audits and questioning. I am really not looking forward to all of this."

Although Pieter had only arrived in the area about three years ago, he had felt at home with this small group. At that time they were pretty much the central staff on the island, together with John Freeman and a couple of other officers. Three years ago all of them were convinced that the base had seen its best times. That the final plans were approved to dismantle the installations, to demolish the buildings and return the island back to the original population. Finally allowed to return after decades of exile.

Pieter recalled very well his first encounter with Jonathan and how surprised he had looked at him when he reported as the only civilian in the office of the _commander-in-chief_.

"No, I have not received any mail about this, Mister Van Dyck. I am very certain about that because I am on top of my mailbox. At that moment Pieter believed him without any doubt and assumed that indeed the tightly groomed captain had not been informed. After a couple of months he started to realize that Oona's remark was founded on reality. Technology and order did not go together with Jonathan. And a lot of people were puzzled how he could keep up with his job or keep this talent hidden from his superiors. But he did it and got away with it. Of course it helped that his superior was stationed around six thousand kilometres away. Till recently.

A week later than planned, Pieter had with the help of John Freeman finally reached his destination. The old and abandoned plantation on the Egmont Islands, some hundred fifty kilometres to the north west of Diego Garcia.

At that moment Jonathan dragged Pieter out of his thoughts.

"Are you not interested in trying to figure out what has happened? As a former journalist shouldn't this kindle your curiosity?"

Pieter had to admit that indeed he had become just a little curious. Even as a semi outsider, he also had noticed the revolution of the sleeping atoll into a busy ants' nest. And that exactly now someone was found dead under suspicious circumstances could be a coincidence. But just like the others, he did not very much believe in coincidence.

"Do you already have a better insight into the circumstances the person died?" he asked Jonathan.

"Actually we don't know that much. Maybe there is not a lot to know. The deceased is, at least according to his badge and the documents he had on him, a corporal Votilio. Sergio Votilio. At the end of his twenties. He arrived here about eight weeks ago as one of the first of the new draft. A computer programmer. I realize that doc Fowler is still occupied with the autopsy, but from what I have seen last night it was to me quite obvious that very few people can survive with that kind of a hole in the middle of their chest. The boat that was found in the vicinity is currently being investigated in the dry dock. His personal belongings were dropped at the good Doctor's and I need to take a close look at them. You are more than welcome to join. Finally something may happen in your boring little life."

"Sure, that is fine for me. But remember that I have guests. And they still need to find a place to stay with you."

Jonathan shook his head thoughtfully.

"I am afraid that will not work out, Pieter. Since yesterday this base has received the highest security status. I am even surprised that they let you land. Probably Freeman did not read the latest instructions, as usual. I really need to talk to him about that. No, I am afraid that you will need to take the young lady with you to your place. No more civilians allowed on Diego."

"Wowow," Pieter protested, "that is out of the question. You know very well that I don't have the accommodation for that. And by the way it is two ladies and not one. Sure you can't do that to me."

"Why not?" Jonathan soothed, "many men would fight to be in your shoes right now. All alone on a deserted island with two charming girls? We'll make sure that you get sufficient provisions and stuff to make it cosy and romantic. I promise you that I will do everything to bump them up the list for a return flight. But it can take a couple of days before there are free seats. To me it looks not too bad for you. But for them, on the contrary, it must feel like a nightmare not coming to an end.

He placed his bottle on the table with a bang. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowed a burp after he crossed the warning angry look of Oona and continued: "let's go Pieter. Oona will take care of the ladies. You need to leave here before six. I don't want you to fly in the dark or I can set up a rescue search for you."

While the door closed behind Pieter and Jonathan, Oona turned herself to Jane: "so, Jane isn't it?"

"Indeed, Jane Hutton. I am here with my little sister Jackie who managed to monopolize the shower for the last half hour."

Oona smiled when she answered: "I cannot blame her. And my advice to you would be to do the same. Pieter's bed and breakfast can be rather Spartan. A man alone, you know. But first you need to tell us what has happened. This for the records. Each rescue operation needs to be filed. If you like to leave this island this year than it will be best to work with me. Most likely Jonathan has already forgotten that he is required to fill out a bunch of documents to even get you on a flight. Bruno will type everything. He is the fastest on a type writer."

With a wink Bruno opened a rugged laptop. "Ok, why don't you start from the moment that you departed?

* *

Chapter 4

Angela Hutton was flabbergasted and watched in disbelief her two daughters sitting sisterly next to each other on the bench. It was obvious she could and would not comprehend the news.

"So both of you are going to give up your jobs to sail the oceans for a couple of months?" Angela repeated carefully. "More than a year as a matter of fact. And spend all your savings on such an adventure?"

She looked for help and addressed her husband Raymond. "Say something Ray. This is a ridiculous plan. They should have taken such a world trip just after their graduation, like most of their friends. Ray?"

Ray murmured something incomprehensible from behind his computer screen.

"Mother, it is now or never. We have enough money to cover the trip. And you know this has been a dream of ours for years," answered Jane, the oldest who had just turned thirty four.

In his mind Raymond let all of the past dreams parade in review. Over the years it had become quite a collection. Most of them had been whims and from time to time he had to be very cross with them to ensure they did not develop into spoilt minxes. But he had to admit that he was secretly in favour of this trip. Even a bit envious. It had also been his dream and he felt sorry for never have taken the step. The girls had inherited the love for the sea from their father. Few years ago they had bought a yacht to enjoy the family outings along the coast of Adelaide. A trip around the world was of course another cup of tea. For Angela their plan had come as a blow for another reason. She had secretly been thinking of grand children now that Jane got more and more serious with her boy-friend. Ah well, those plans now had to be put in the fridge for some time.

"Ray?"

"Well," he started not very convincingly, "your lack of experience makes me worried. Wouldn't it be better to hire a skipper?"

"But didn't we accumulate enough experience with you?" was Jackie's argument. "We have done quite a bit of sailing with you, even in difficult circumstances. We know how to navigate, we understand the ins and outs of the radio, the boat is stacked with modern communication equipment. What can go wrong? We will mail each day, promised."

But Ray had other things on his mind. He made some clear statements on the route that they should follow and where they had to anchor to meet him at different stages. As a former minister and a professor he had to do a fair amount of travelling. His demand was that they should meet from time to time in places where his agenda would take him.

And this is how Jane and Jackie left Adelaide on the family yacht _The Port of Call_. The forty two footer provided more than ample space and luxury for the two girls and was not too large to sail without a crew. The first couple of days had been a pleasure to sail on the calm sea pushed forward by fair winds. The girls used their satellite connection to mail as promised each day so that also at the home front the anxiety ebbed away.

During the tenth night the first signs appeared that the weather was about to change. And not for the better.

"Shouldn't we divert to Diego Garcia? The naval base will give us a safe shelter. I don't want to take any risks," Jane had insisted.

Reluctantly Jackie had nodded and had plotted a new course. They were still a fair distance from Diego and it promised to be a race against time with the storm. A race they were bound to lose.

When the first waves flushed the deck, the lack of experience of the two took its toll. They started to yell and quarrel on how to reef the sails. The pouring rain soaked everything in minutes. They got entangled in ropes and riggings. They swayed to and fro over the slippery deck, hurting their knees and elbows. The pitch-dark sky was lightened by bolts that seemed to be everywhere.

Finally the mast snapped because they were unable to reef the main sail as it got stuck. With a loud noise the mast fell to starboard, almost capsizing the boat. In a couple of minutes the first waves hit the cabin.

Jane crawled to the radio and sent out the distress signal. Fortunately the boat had an advanced safety system on board. Almost instantly they received answers from nearby boats. Also the control tower of Diego responded and promised to coordinate the help.

As fast as the tropical storm had overtaken the yacht, it lulled down again. A burning sun broke through the clouds which made place for a clear blue sky.

In the daylight, Jane and Jackie could take a close look at the ravage on deck. It was obvious that they would not be able to continue their voyage. In the meantime, the control tower had reached them again with the news that a water plane was on its way to pick them up and bring them to the army base. While Jackie was still throwing some wet clothes in one of their travel bags, she heard Jane shout that she had spotted the plane in the distance.

Relieved they untied the small dinghy and made attempts to start the engine. Jane ended her story with the hard landing in front of Diego's coast and the drinking of a cool beer.

* * *

Chapter 5

_Doc_ Fowler slowly shook Pieter's hand and spoke as slowly, hesitating between most of the sentences as if he weighted each word with circumspection.

"I notice that you have not yet lost your inquisitive instincts, mmm. For once that something happens here, you immediately turn up. Very nice, nice indeed.... But I doubt it that you will be of much use in this case. The autopsy on corporal Sergio Votilio was rather straight forward. I would say death by the bullet, not? We did not find the bullet itself, but I suspect that it was war ammunition. Went straight through the guy and now lies somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. A pity for such a young guy. The question, that dreadful eternal question, is of course ... _why_?"

Jonathan pulled Pieter away from Doctor Fowler. "OK doc, I reckoned that one also myself. Can I show Pieter the victim's belongings? And have they already finished the investigation of the boat?"

"Yes," Fowler answered, "I have put the report of the first ... and most likely only ... inquiry next to the box with his personal stuff. On the floor you will find his kitbag. Have fun with it. Should the military police not been involved or one or another investigative body like the NCIS?"

Jonathan answered negatively. The new commander had explicitly charged him with the investigation simply because there was not yet a military police department on the island. And even the suspicious death of the corporal had not convinced the commander to bring in a special police detachment.

"We are already flooded with new troops and men. We are very capable, and probably the best placed, to solve this accident ourselves internally," he had retorted in a determined voice.

Pieter followed Jonathan into a small subdued office. On a wooden table the few personal belongings of the victim had been put criss-cross on display. Jonathan took the white plastic badge on which, with black letters, the name _Sergio Votilio_ was engraved.

"Hé," Pieter tried to stop him, "are you not supposed to wear gloves or so? There could be fingerprints or other traces on this stuff. Contaminating the evidence, it is called in the movies. You know?"

Jonathan frowned on Pieter.

"Come on, boy, don't exaggerate. We shall solve this mystery without all of the forensic hocus-pocus that only exists in your precious movies." Without any hesitation he grabbed the other objects one by one, turned them around, and weighed them in the palm of his hand.

"Not a lot to deal with, I am afraid. Some ball pens that are effectively ball pens and no James Bond gadgets. A money clip with some hundred dollars. A Zippo lighter. Why is everyone carrying a Zippo lighter? He did not have any cigarettes with him. His access-pass for the computer centre on the south side. Judging from the colour code on the badge he had the highest clearance. Some loose coins."

Jonathan continued and took the brownish worn leather wallet from the table. It was bent from the years in the back pocket of Votilio.

"A wallet with four credit cards, a bank card, an old Delta frequent flyer card, his driving licence ... let me have a look ... apparently from Detroit ... and his military passport. It looks rather new and has no stamps from previous travels. No pictures of girl friends or boy friends, father or mother, god children. No little pieces of paper with notes."

He dropped the wallet back on the table. "And of course, here we have an old iPod. Let's check what kind of music Sergio liked. Where is the on-button?"

Pieter took the iPod from Jonathan who was turning the player in all directions. He pushed ostentatiously the switch on top of the device. The screen lightened up and showed the start menu.

"Did you see how it is done? These are really the classics. Look, even Queen and Abba are here." Pieter rolled with his finger over the navigation wheel and flipped through the artists. He went back to the main menu.

"Let's have a look whether he stored pictures on this... No, that folder is empty. I am afraid this is also a common, be it old, iPod. No gadget of _inspecteur Clouseau_."

Jonathan checked with Pieter: "can't these things be used as a hard drive?"

Pieter answered surprised: "yes indeed. From where appears this sudden technical insight?"

"Well, I've had a similar thing for years. Apparently, you have no idea how boring it could get in this place."

Pieter rolled and clicked through the menu. "No, I cannot find anything. To be sure we should connect it to a PC. If we can still find an old one supporting this device. It would make it easier to detect possible hidden folders."

With a fake Clouseau-voice Pieter continued: "we should take a look at his file."

Jonathan removed the file from its plastic folder and glanced through the pages. Softly citing from time to time passages.

"Corporal Sergio Votilio... twenty five years old... born and raised in Detroit. Lived for a long time with his mom and dad till both died in a car accident about four years ago. He was an only child. From his career I can conclude his was some kind of a computer nerd. Went to the army, mmm interesting, only after the death of his parents. He worked at the department of advanced computer science in Detroit. Oh dear, here we go again. Project names that don't mean a thing. Project Luna, project Jaguar, project Abacus, project Haiku ... that's a good one."

Jonathan tried to come up with a Haiku on the spot.

A young man was in love with his PC

So he wanted to go to the sea

He came to the Diego Atoll

But died in stead of having LOL

He paused for a moment and shook his head. "Let's stick to the case, shall we? Diego Garcia was his first foreign assignment in the army. Here he was responsible for ... I cite ... the development of complex algorithms to advance the resolving of fifth grade equations as applied in global simulations and scenario-building. Jesus, who writes and understands something like that? A nerd, just as I suspected. The purpose was that he would stay here for six months and than return back to Detroit. But it will never come that far for this poor man."

Jonathan threw the report among the rest of the stuff and took another thin pile of typed out proceedings covering the investigation of the boat. Diagonally he screened the text and it became apparent that also here not a lot had been found.

"The only detail that sticks out is that the man had loaded the boat with extra diesel fuel. It seems that he wanted to sail a very long distance. Those boats, although they may look fragile, have been used for ever to cross the seas between the atolls. They are very sea worthy. Within living memory, it is known that the native's forefathers sailed very long distances. I suspect that he wanted to aim for the Seychelles or Mauritius to disappear via one of the large public airports."

"But with what?" asked Pieter. "That man did not carry anything with him. Let's take a closer look inside his kit-bag." They turned the heavy cotton bag upside down, spilling it's content over the floor. With the tip of his shoe, Jonathan pushed the shirts, trousers and T-shirts apart. "A well groomed and cared for man, I have to admit. Look, all is tidy and ironed. Let's take a look at his toilet articles."

Some items rolled over the table and Jonathan put them orderly next to another. "Nice shaver. Tooth brush, tooth paste, comb, wrapped soap bars from a hotel ... not very enlightening for this investigation."

Finally Stanford shrugged his shoulders. Even after they had searched the objects once more they could not find anything out of the ordinary.

Stanford's mobile phone rang.

He listened for a couple of seconds, checked his watch en turned, with the phone still next to his ear, to Pieter. "Okay, thanks. Pieter, all is ready so you can depart immediately. Your guests can't bear to wait anymore. Let's join them at the quay."

With a proficient gesture he closed the oyster shell phone which as always brought up with Pieter the question what the Americans liked about those petite round mobiles.

"Guess I will continue to work on this tonight," Jonathan sounded unmotivated, "let me give you a lift to the harbour."

Pieter's glasses were immediately covered with vapour as they stepped out of the cool air conditioned shed into the damp heat. An irritated _shit_ escaped from his mouth, also caused by the silly grin of Jonathan. Pieter stared at Jonathan through his opaque glasses: "why do you think I am such a great pilot?"

Laughing they stepped into one of the parked open jeeps to rush off at an irresponsible speed, barely avoiding a collision with two men who happened to stroll on the walkway, direction hospital. Both men managed to jump sideways, waving their fists while Jonathan yelled: "damned rookies. What are you all doing here anyway?"

Even before the jeep came to a stand-still, Jackie stepped agitated towards the vehicle extending her hand to Jonathan who jumped on the ground with a flexible move.

"My name is Jackie, we have not yet met. But I heard from my sister and from Oona that you have taken the decision to send us back with this man to some sort of far off island? Why? We want to go home as soon as possible and the last thing we need or want is a forced stay with someone we don't even know. He could be a murderous weirdo. Is there anything that you can do to make us stay here? We will not cause any trouble."

In admiration Jonathan continued to look at her. It had been a while since he had heard someone talk so fast and so long in one breath. Agreed, the Doctor had his ways with words also, but it took him a lot more time. After a while he asked: "is there anything else, miss?"

Quite upset by his unconcealed cynical remark she answered hesitatingly: "euh, no, that was it I think." But soon she pulled herself together again and she started all over with her plea: "Is there really nothing we can do? Do you have a superior? I want to talk to your manager. I want to escalate this."

"No." Was the short answer.

From his tone it was clear that no further discussion was possible. But Jackie kept going and came hopping next to Jonathan who had started to walk to the edge of the harbour where the sea plane had been moored.

"I demand that I can stay here. And also my sister." She looked angrily at her sister seeking some support, but she only nodded vaguely.

Jonathan stopped abruptly. "Listen miss. This is a military basis that has been brought in the highest state of preparedness. Nobody knows what exactly is going on. It might be an exercise. Maybe not. Nevertheless it implies that civilians are not welcome here, under any conditions, and have to leave as soon as possible. It was already against the rules that you were allowed to land in the first place. Now you must leave for at least a couple of days till I will have found proper transportation for you to go back home."

He pointed at Pieter. "I am the first to admit that he is a bit strange, but accusing him of being a blood thirsty hermit is a bit over the top. Go with him and tomorrow we will send a plane loaded with food, drinks, and clothes. Whatever is needed to make your stay there a pleasant one. And now, get out of here."

Jonathan himself was surprised that his military authority had effect on Jackie. He had not used this voice for the past years, but he was happy that he still had _it_.

Oona stood at Jonathan's side when Pieter boarded the plane as the last one, indicating a sailor to slip the moorings. She poked her shoulder against his chest. "Are you not envious? To see Pieter leave with two pretty ladies?"

Jonathan growled. "Envious? Do you want to bet that he will be back tomorrow and will drop them from his plane in the bay? What a fuss those two."

They waved and put up their thumbs answering Pieter's greeting from the cockpit. He sailed carefully between the coming and going traffic in the harbour. Once in open sea, the plane accelerated and slowly detached itself from the surface.

Jonathan followed the decreasing dot till his eyes hurt from staring into the hard blue sky.

* * *

Chapter 6

Ian Summerton looked at his wrought gold watch en nodded at the man who sat opposite to him in the dark brown Chesterfield. The tight leather between the deep naps creaked as Ian reached out for his glass on the low table next to the chair. Glass was a bit of a denigrating reference to the fine crystal balloon in which the old cognac was pensively whirled around.

The standing clock stroke discretely but clearly once. The sound vibrated long through the silence.

"He will be here any moment now. The flight from Zürich had quite some delay. And at this hour of day it is not obvious to get from Heathrow into the city centre. Even now they have increased again the congestion tax."

Ian had a deep sonorous voice. A voice expressing experience and determination. A voice that also did not expect but a listening and agreeing ear. The man in front of him answered: "I don't understand why he is not taking one of their corporate jets. Don't they have sufficient of these things? I just hate the hassle in the airports and crowded aircraft. And they are never, never on time."

The silence returned, interrupted by the crackling of the open fire with its imposing chimney dominating the room. The large gloomy oil painting that hung slightly reclining from the chimney, depicted a standing Thomas Moore. It was one of the few portraits that had not ended up in a museum, but had remained part of the private collection of the club. It showed Moore dressed up in his official gowns, as lawyer at the court of Hendry VIII. Ironically, the painter had brushed through the elevated windows the bustling London at the end of the fifteenth, early sixteenth century. In the background one could distinguish the Tower of London.

The room was barely lit by some dimmed spots so that the flames could project a whimsical play of light and shadow on the wood panelling surrounding the place.

The door, cunningly hidden in the wood panelling, was opened silently by a lackey wearing an all-black tuxedo and white gloves. It seemed like a piece of the wall was taken away. The servant retreated discretely with the wet coat of the new visitor draped over this left arm.

"Sorry my best friends, the bad weather above the Channel is to be blamed."

Without even looking once at the two men, he made his way to the small bar. He turned some bottles and investigated the labels. He took one of the royal glasses and poured himself a large dash of cognac. He swallowed the liqueur instantaneously, savouring the titillating warming drink that swept through his gullet.

Although in the outside world their respective organisations were continuously in fierce competition, nobody would have noticed that in the small room. On the contrary, over the past years their collaboration had tightened and several, well kept secret meetings had been held. It was also for the best that only a few people were aware of their gatherings. The different anti-trust committees from both Europe and the United States would have quite a grind if only they would suspect this.

Ian had just turned sixty and was the senior of the three. He compensated his rather small posture by wearing flamboyant yet fashionable clothes. His luxuriant grey-white hair was artistically semi-long and fell over his forehead in a lascivious wave. Modern and colourful glasses provided the finishing touch to his _look_. For more than twenty years he had been the strong man at GPC, one of the most prestigious consultancy firms in the world. Ian's personal network consisted mainly out of heads of state, first ministers, highly placed officials. Actually, none of the leading and less leading countries in the world would take a decision without checking with him or his team first. Whether it concerned a state reform, a military decision or the voting of a controversial law.

The second man, who had kept silent since his complaint about the late arrival of the third guest, was Vladimir Tikhonova. In his fifties and since a couple of years the head of _The Asian Consulting Group_. Under his leadership the group had grown to become the number one consulting practice in the emerging markets. It was not obvious for everyone how he, arriving from an unclear past, could have become the man at the top in just a few months. On the other hand it was hardly a secret that his connections with the still influential Russian secret organisations had rendered him good services. It was also well known that he could call himself friends with the Chinese and Indian statesmen who preferred him because of his Greek-Russian descent. His gift to digest huge amounts of alcohol had proven to be a trump over his competitors during tough negotiations. His slightly swollen face with on the nose some irregular bumps and purple veins, betrayed that his lifestyle had started to demand its toll.

The third person, Juergen Birkvald, had entered the EMEA organisation as a promising MIT graduate. He had quickly climbed up the ranks, outpacing everyone because of his unique technical knowledge combined with political insights. He was only in his mid thirties and had already been appointed last year as the new CEO of EMEA. His company was smaller, but not less influential in the large and complex European Union. Originally from Denmark, the two meter long Brikvald towered with his athletic figure over his two colleagues. It had been Ian Summerton himself who had approached Juergen some years ago during a lecture at MIT. Juergen's mentors had already put him on Ian's radar screen because of his trailblazing research in the application of cloud supercomputers to solve complex simulations and projections. At that moment, Ian decided not to take him on board, but to follow and steer him from a distance. Ian loved to gradually build up his power, to imperceptibly manipulate people. He knew that one day this would come in handy.

Ian looked concerned at his protégé as he poured himself a second large cognac. He knew Juergen as an almost-tea-totaller.

Something was going on.

"So, Mr. Summerton and Mr. Tikhonova, are you ready for it?"

He removed from a brown leather pouch a thin tablet computer and took a seat in the third chair around the small coffee table with ivory inset. A relic from past days that lords and adventurers were frequenting the club. And not as today, the three CEO's of the most influential consultants of the world.

" _We have arrived at the point of no return_."

The tablet switched on immediately and had quickly established a fast wireless internet connection. Juergen used his own developed security protocol, one could not be cautious enough. His fingers hovered skilfully over a number of icons on the high definition touchscreen display. A complicated dashboard started to build on the screen.

With a swoosh of his fingers he arranged some dynamic graphs to the side. Vladimir and Ian could now get a clear view of a world map in which colours, numbers, lines and graphs continuously moved around.

He turned the tablet towards them.

"We are now connected life to the simulation programme that is running on the clusters based in San Diego, Zürich and Beijing. All imaginable variables one can think of, and some one cannot think of, from seismological models till religious patterns, from climate observations till the new European innovation programs, have all been applied. I am the only one who knows there is a dashboard, this dashboard, that brings it all together and correlates the results." Juergen was excited. "All models are unanimous about the outcome and that within acceptable margins for the next fifty years."

He halted for a moment while Ian and Vladimir stared at the dynamically changing image on the screen. The map of the world was now deep red, but in some areas bright green circles started to glow and were expanding rapidly. In the margin of the screen, line and bar graphs were displayed with changing numbers and shapes.

"So, it _is_ possible."

Juergen saw the relief in their eyes. A smile appeared around the otherwise hanging corners of Vladimir's mouth. The intelligent dark eyes from Ian observed both men. "I don't think we need to debate any further about the go or no go? For me it is obvious. How far do you stand, Vlad?"

Vladimir's smile broadened. "Nor Raghavani, Yo Hong nor their councils, military and civic, will pose a problem. I have still some work to do with Krashnow, as he keeps interpreting this as a unique opportunity to restore the Russian power from the glorious past. But I will handle it. As always they trust us completely and regard us as the ultimate neutral and innocent source of information."

"The same for the US and Europe," Ian added shortly. He was still watching the tablet where in the meantime most of the map and the graphs had switched to green with here and there a speckle of orange.

A discrete double knock on the door was followed by two immaculately dressed lackeys each pushing a cart containing dishes hidden away under impressive silver cupolas.

One of them, clearly the most senior, addressed the audience announcing that, as requested, the lunch was to be served soon as the last guest had arrived.

With professional speed the century old cutlery was arranged on the small round table in the middle of the room. A bottle of champagne, a bottle white wine and a bottle of red wine were silently uncorked. The white wine was critically tasted by the senior servant. The red wine was artfully poured into a broad decanter. The other lackey swayed the wine around before he tasted. "Please allow the red one some more minutes to breathe. Than this excellent wine will most certainly please You. When You are ready, than I would like to invite You to the table."

One could hear in their solemn tone that the You was pronounced with a capital Y.

With one finger brush over the touchscreen, the carefully organised information changed into a kaleidoscope of colours to disappear some seconds later as the screen turned black.

The three men took a seat at the table and with military precision the cupolas were lifted simultaneously by the servants who had placed themselves strategically behind their guests.

The senior lackey prepared himself to explain the different ingredients on the plates, but Ian interrupted him by putting his hand on the man's arm. Friendly he said: "it looks absolutely delicious, Jacques, we will most likely enjoy every single bite. If we need anything else, we will let you know. Thank you."

Without any emotion Jacques replied: "but of course, sir, as you wish." And with a short nod they left the room, taking one of the carts with them.

Ian took the bottle of champagne and filled the slender glasses in an angle of forty five degrees. He did not want to spill anything.

Together with the two others, they looked silently at the painting of Thomas Moore.

* * *

Chapter 7

Stratford rushed away from the harbour towards the easterly part of Diego Garcia. He sped the jeep over the road of pebbles and broken coral that connected both extreme points of the island. Leaving behind him a large white dust cloud, slowly dissolving in the moist and saturated air. By doing so he violated the only traffic etiquette on the island. Everybody hated it to be coughing around in such an artificial dust cloud.

He was unreasonably irritated that he had to pass different control posts that asked him time and again the same badge and the same questions. He was in a hurry and did not have the patience for it. Grinding a spur into the gravel, he parked the car in front of a dome shaped building. Jonathan jumped out of the jeep and made his way with wide strides to the entrance. A small army of soldiers in full battle dress were guarding the door, their automatic weapons ready to be used. Stratford did not doubt for a moment that the guns were loaded with military grade ammunition and not the routinely used plastic bullets. Not only did the men wear the latest protective armour so that only a seasoned sniper would be capable of putting them down. But in their helmets they also carried integrated reality enhancing communication equipment. The high definition camera had, even before Stratford's feet had hit the ground when jumping out of the jeep, captured images of his badge and his face. That data was sent together with other biological metrics such as length, width, iris profile and body mass to the computer console of the captain who was sitting behind thick safety glass. The data was cross checked and the entry was automatically unlocked. The double transparent door slid open with a hissing noise and Stratford entered the sterile room. The two guardians did not leave him unattended.

The space was circular and high. It reminded him of the dome of a cathedral. The harsh daylight illuminated everything through the transparent roof. The spotless white walls between the slender arcs were only interrupted by the thick glass which contained the door. Inside it was possibly even brighter than outside. The white reflection hurt his eyes. Across from the entrance there was a stainless steel elevator door, which was not different than any other lift door in the world. Stratford knew that the doors merely looked like from stainless steel but that in reality they were cast from depleted uranium and titanium nanorods. Capable of withstanding fires, explosions and bullets. A lot of bullets. Between the door and the elevator there was a kind of a reception table and the officer made a sign that Stratford had to leave his weapon, which was in the meantime detected by a body scan and clearly visible in red on a control screen. Stratford threw silently the pistol in a plastic box and in return he was given a small cardboard receipt. He shook his head. It looked like what you receive from a friendly old lady at the cloak-room of an opera building.

Still being followed by his two sentinels, Stratford stepped inside the small elevator. He swiped his badge through the reader and pushed the only button on the panel. The two soldiers continued to gaze at him from behind their mirrored sun shades as the door closed. He expected in vain the soft lift music or the discrete pings each time a floor was passed. His stomach was slightly lifted against his diaphragm which resulted in an agreeable tickling in his belly. It was also an indication of the speed by which the elevator swished down. As he got deeper and deeper under the ground, the bright light was gradually dimmed.

Seconds later the doors opened and he left the elevator quickly. He got out on a mezzanine with a view on a large circular room that was barely lit. The faces and glasses of about forty people were ghostly illuminated by the many screens from behind which they worked. Jonathan did not suffer from claustrophobia, but the knowledge that he was now walking more than two hundred meter below the coral bottom surrounded by solidified lava, made him involuntary shiver. In the end, the atoll was nothing more than the above sea level protruding mouth of an enormous volcano. And it was exactly the specific composition of the lava that made this place so unique. It provided the impressive array of computer equipment that was centred in the middle of the room, the best protection against radiation and electro-magnetic pulses. Whether these would be man-made or come from a rogue solar flare.

Without even casting a glimpse on the activity below him, he entered one of the meeting rooms where a heavily decorated man was already waiting for him.

"Damn, what the hell is going on?" snarled Stratford.

Colonel Bramaud, the new supreme commander of Diego Garcia tried to formulate an answer, but Stratford interrupted him immediately.

"Look Philippe, let me make this very simple for you. From now on _I_ will take care of what need to be done. I can assure you that I have spent most of my day covering up your stupidities. Now, can you finally explain to me what went wrong?"

Philippe Bramaud answered: "the last couple of days Votilio became greedy. The moment he realised the importance of the information, he tried to extort us. When that did not work out, he copied all of the data and tried to escape before the agreed time. He executed that plan so clumsily that one of our patrols had to intercept him. They did not have a choice. I did not have a choice. It would have been too obvious."

"In a way it is a good thing that they have shot him," replied Stratford merciless. Especially now. Too much was at stake and his role was more crucial than ever. And the whole case had almost been blown to pieces even before it had started. "The patrol, what do they know?"

"That same morning they were all put on a transport with different final destinations. No explanation required. That is the good thing about the army. We will not hear from them again. The only one whom we might watch closely is Doctor. Fowler. And I am also working at a communication to Oona and her men. They might ask some questions."

Jonathan threw Votilio's iPod in front of Philippe. "There. Let us have a look at what he has put on. I don't trust it anymore. By the way, was all outgoing traffic analysed on content? Or did he post anything on Twitter or whatever social media he was addicted to? You never know with that kind of nerds."

"No, all of that was checked. His laptop has been monitored remotely since weeks. He might have been a software genius; he did not have a clue about hardware."

Philippe connected the iPod to the laptop and started to check the files. From time to time he nodded approvingly. Jonathan was pacing nervously around the room.

Finally Philippe disconnected the iPod: "looks good to me. He did what we asked him to do."

"Give me back that thing. I know what I need to do with it."

Without looking back, Stratford disappeared in the elevator. Back in the upper dome he retrieved his weapon in exchange of the receipt. Before he left the building he switched on his mobile phone, scrolled through the contacts and pushed on a name.

Promptly the call was answered.

"Abacus continues as planned."

* * *

Chapter 8

It started to grow dusk when Pieter put the last rope tightly between the airplane and the wooden pier on which Jackie and Jane were waiting patiently, sitting on their personal belongings.

During the short flight both of them had been very taciturn. Especially Jackie did not make any effort to conceal that she was displeased with the situation. Only when Pieter had flown in a wide curve over Egmont to make his final approach for landing in the quiet waters of the lagoon, they had uttered their admiration for the idyllic settings.

The island was not that different from the other hundred atolls spread over the Indian Ocean. A half circle with on the outside sloping beaches and, about a hundred meters into the sea, the waves breaking over the coral reef. The inside of the circle fringed a protected lagoon with shallow but clean and clear water. The Egmont island, actually a sequence of three smaller islands, was only slightly different because at the south of the circle a larger island was formed. A minor difference, but enough to make it suitable for habitation. Scattered remains of that habitation could still be found across the island. A ruinous church, surrounded by abandoned huts. Pieter had also found traces of an old cemetery with blackened tomb stones. The first weeks of his stay he had tried to reconstruct the history of the island and its population but he soon had found out that this was really a forgotten part of the world. Today, the only traces of habitation were the few wild donkeys and pigs. Innocent creatures with the annoying habit to scream in the middle of the night without any apparent reason. And they kept Pieter from his sleep.

"Let's go. I reckon that you must be dropping with fatigue by now. And I am about to faint from starvation."

Pieter took some bags en disappeared in what looked like a dark tunnel drilled through the tight foliage of the local flora.

"Not that you will get lost, but the road is no longer what it used to be," he shouted from inside the shrubs. Quickly Jane experienced what he was referring to. Not fifty meters into the trail she stumbled heavily and scraped her knee painfully on one of the large broken tiles that used to form an even pavement. Through the centuries those tiles had broken, turned rough and had been overgrown with grotesque roots.

"Shit," she groaned. Jackie helped her up and yelled at Pieter: "is it too much to ask to help us here?"

When there came no reply she added: "asshole."

Leaning on Jackie, Jane hobbled a couple of meters when Pieter appeared again. This time armed with two strong flashlights. He aimed the strong LED beams in their eyes.

"Don't you have anything else to do than to irritate us? We are here against our will, remember?"

To her surprise Pieter reacted mildly, a bit aghast by Jane's tired and painfully contorted face. "Sorry, you are right. This is not the time to be a clown. Come, give me the bags. We'll have a look at Jane's knee when we are in the house. Heavy bleeding and this climate is not a good combination. It is only a minute to go and we arrive at the house. Here is another torch, Jackie. We don't want you to break an arm or so."

Abruptly the path ended into a wide grass field in front of the large colonial house. Its silhouette lightened by strong spots which created a particular contrast against the ruby backdrop of the sunset.

They had already spotted the house from the air, but now that they stood in front of it both Jane and Jackie were even more impressed. As they climbed the broad steps towards the open door, automatically more lights switched on in the building. Pieter lead the way, clapped in his hands and yelled a couple of times " _boo!"_

"A couple of weeks ago I almost had a heart attack when suddenly a wild hog jumped from a dark corner," Pieter explained.

In contrast with the worn façade, the inside of the house was spotless white, modern and tight. Here and there some of the original parts were artistically included in the contemporary design. The imperial winding staircase had been restored into its original grandeur, with twisted bars that blended into a wide balustrade. To the left of stairs there was a renovated counter, most likely where the slaves had to queue to receive their weekly pay. Or in the absence of money, some scanty rations. The hard, shining ebony that probably was used in abundance in the original dwelling, had survived the moist climate but not always the uninvited guests like adventurers, sailors and even modern pirates who loved to light a fire with it. When Pieter entered for the first time the ruin, the walls had been decorated with graffiti of dubious character. Although the texts included some historically interesting artefacts like a poem of a German soldier dated 1943, most of them were like _Hunter was here, June 1968_. The stale smell of urine, blended with rotten wood and damp plaster had become a vague memory.

Even further to the left there was a double door giving passage to what used to be the grand family dining room. To the right of the hall there was a similar door to _le salon_. The hall and rooms were painted in spotless white. From cast-iron decorated grids with heavy curly leaves, pleasant cool air flowed. Giving the impression of being somewhat aromatized.

Pieter crossed the corridor and opened the door to the spacious kitchen. In pain, Jane sat at the weathered oak table while Jackie opened the first aid kit that Pieter put in her hands. She crouched in front of Jane and pulled up her trousers till she reached the bleeding knee. Than she proceeded with care to loosen the torn tissue stuck in the clotted blood of the wound. After Jane had yelped a couple of times, it started to get on Jackie's nerves and she tore with one fast move the remaining cloth from the wound which immediately started to bleed again. Jane screamed followed by a very angry look.

"You are such a dork," taunted Jackie. "What was I thinking to take you with me on my world travels?"

"Excuse me?" replied Jane, "your world trip? For the record, it was the opposite, little sister."

"Sure, _whatever,_ " was her only answer while she carefully disinfected the wound – the stinging substance making Jane yell again wondering whether the stuff was not overdue – and laid a bandage.

"As good as new. Actually better then before." She padded softly on the bandage: "Those little knees are not getting any younger." Smugly Jackie inspected her work.

In the meantime Pieter had started to rattle with pots and pans, overhearing the discussion. It had actually amused him to listen to the two quarrelling sisters. And although he was very keen on his privacy, this became one of the few moments that he liked it to have some action in the house.

"In view of the past events, the severe injuries and the endured hardship, I suggest that I shall prepare a simple yet nourishing meal," Pieter announced excessively polite. "You can now buzz off to pick a room for the night. Meanwhile I will pour out a good glass of white wine and open up a box of Pringels as _amuse geuille._ You will notice that the guestrooms are as usual ready to receive unexpected guests. You will also immediately know if you enter by mistake into my room. It is the only one where the bed is not made."

The first door that Jane pulled open was indeed Pieter's room. She could not resist calling her sister who just like herself shook her head in disbelief. Partly smiling, partly with compassion.

It was the archetype room of the bachelor. Stacks of books and magazines everywhere, an old sofa that could have escaped from the set of _Friends_. Clothes were thrown negligently, yet reasonably folded, over a chair. On the desk next to the bed stood two large computer monitors displaying an aquarium as screensaver. Next to it was a complicated radio station with flickering lights. On the wall opposite the bed a large flatscreen was mounted with left and right two remarkable B&W Nautilus speakers. Below the TV set was a floating cupboard hiding behind the open doors an impressive audio-visual installation with accompanying DVD's and Blu-Rays. The built-in closet stood open so that the two sisters could peek indiscreetly at the colourful collection of T-shirts, trousers and shirts.

Still shaking their heads they tried the other doors until they found the guest rooms. As chaotic as Pieter's room, as tidy and clean were those rooms. It seemed like they had entered a hotel and somehow that did not match with Pieter. They decided to interrogate him during dinner, but now they were happy to have a place to leave their stuff and quickly change clothes. Their choice would be limited to the khaki, but dry and clean, clothes that Oona had provided. With a bit of luck they would succeed in saving their own outfit from the salty water.

Jane was the first to return downstairs, holding in her arms a pile of her own clothes. "Pieter, is there a possibility to wash and dry our clothes? Everything is entangled in salt. And if I cannot wash these right away the clothes will be ruined."

Pieter did not look up while he was arranging some grilled crab, lobster tails, shrimp and crayfish on an ice covered dish.

"Yes sure. Take this door and you will see the washer and dryer. Make sure you pre soak. That salt eats your clothes like moths. And while you are on it. Feel free to also do my laundry of the past month."

Jane walked past the table and stretched to quickly grab some Pringles from the bowl next to Pieter. "Hey," he shouted, looking up straight into her eyes. "Weird but nice, purple-green eyes," he thought. Her face was soft and the traces of fatigue had disappeared. Except maybe some dark shadows under her eyes. Unaware his gaze slid down, following the curve of her blouse.

"You like what you see?" Jane asked a bit provocatively. She had stepped towards the door and turned around.

Pieter felt caught like a teenager who for the very first time looked at a girl without wanting to pull her braids.

Sheepishly he nodded, not knowing what to do with the awkward situation. Inarticulately he called himself names. He was mid forty, known for his sarcastic remarks, sharp tongue and look at him now. Staring at a woman as if she was the only living being on earth.

"You may call your sister, _les fruits de mer sont servis_ ," he added.

* * *

Chapter 9

After years of living on military bases, Stratford no longer needed an alarm clock to wake up each morning at five o'clock sharp. He had been awake for more than an hour when he stepped into the office of the logistics department. Better known in military circles as the _blanket stackers_.

The young corporal jumped up from his chair, saluted and wished Stratford a pleasant morning.

Jonathan sat at the desk and gestured that the corporal could sit down.

"Today we need to prepare a shipment to Van Dyck. You may know that he picked up some travellers from their sinking yacht but unfortunately we did not have the time yesterday to give him supplies to survive the next couple of days. Knowing Pieter he hardly has sufficient drink and food for himself, let alone for unexpected company."

He pulled out a list and put it on top of a pile of forms.

"This has top priority. The airplane will be ready around fifteen hundred hours. That gives you plenty of time not to screw up."

For a moment the man wanted to dispute that his shift had almost ended and that it would be better to ask his relief at seven. The icy look he received from Stratford made it clear that he had better take care of it personally. Unless he wanted to prick sea-urchins under the burning sun for the rest of the week.

"Contact me at fourteen hundred so that I can check the shipment personally," shouted Stratford as he walked through the door.

He put on his outdated pilot sun glasses and made his way to the infirmary crossing the dusty road. The sprinklers, ensuring that between the barracks there was some green grass growing, ignited with their ticking noise. It was another indication that it was six AM. Stratford knew that even at this early hour Fowler would be present in his office. The older they became, the earlier they rose. A lost wild piglet hid squeaking under some low growing bush when Jonathan wanted to chase it away with his heavy army boot. Butterflies fluttered from flower to flower and the air already shimmered with the humming of insects. The sun was already burning and Stratford was glad that he could move from one cold room to another.

Fowler stood bent over a locker, fumbling between piles of files when Stratford knocked on the glass door. The Doctor had just finished his paperwork on Votilio and was about to send his findings via e-mail to his medical superior. Not that that superior would pay a lot of attention to it, but it happened to be the process to abide.

"The n-th unsolved case," thought Fowler. He had learned over the years that in the army one should not always ask too many questions or try to understand.

He turned around when he heard Jonathan knock and looked over the rim of his reading glasses.

"A very good morning to you, sir. What have I to thank to receive such a high ranked visit? I hope that you are not bringing me a fresh supply of corpses?"

"No, this morning is like each morning that we had experienced over the past years. All quiet as it should be. I am here to examine again Votilio's stuff. And then I have to complete my report with yours and submit it to Bramaud. That idiot has requested a full de-briefing and wants to be kept abreast of all our findings. If any."

Jonathan poured himself some black coffee from one of the pots that stood on a metal surgery cart and disappeared in the room where the day before he and Peter already went through all of the items.

"Let me wish you lots of fun," answered Fowler who in the meantime had again disappeared in his closet.

* * *

Chapter 10

Ian Summerton turned away from the silently rushing cars on the Palisades Parkway and looked at the wide glass case in his spacious office. Doubtless he was one of the people on earth able to appreciate fully the value of the displayed manuscripts and incunables. They did not appear to be very special. They were not even well conserved. Just a pile of old brittle paper in a peeling gaunt leather jacket. During a summer clean-up the papers would stand little chance of survival. As a child he had already been fascinated by old books and in the library he could sit silently for hours just reading the worn, in gold foil imprinted, titles. Later his lasting interest had been kindled by the renaissance. Not so much for the art like most of his posh colleagues, but for the political and religious new wave thinking called humanism. Or how since the middle of the fifteenth century, in the wake of the Hundred Year War, the then Western world left the dark middle ages. And humans went exploring outside their self inflicted boundaries. In the centuries to come, the _ratio_ or logical thinking would be of prime importance. It would be a time of bold exploration, new economic models, the start of scientific research. A period of unprecedented growth and trust in rational thinking to escape from the religious yoke that had for centuries kidnapped the free will.

He was proud of his unique private collection. Now, if Bill Gates was allowed to keep one of Da Vinci's codices, than surely he was allowed to own some of the unknown works of Thomas Moore. As a true detective he had discovered that particularly the last writings of Morus had disappeared from history. Finally he had found that in an external storage hangar, rented by the University of Cambridge, still hundreds of unopened boxes and chests were stored containing unstudied and unlisted books, letters, sermons and manuscripts. As always, universities had to deal with tight budgets and tried to economize wherever possible. There was no money to pay a team to once and for all catalogue the contents of the hangar. Let alone to find some students interested to comb through the dusty papers, many of them moist and covered in mould. A retired housekeeper had given him access to the hangar in exchange of a couple of bottles of good red wine. A copy of a typewritten inventory list had been his only guide to find his way between the racks filled with half rotten boxes. One line on the list had drawn his attention during his research.

Parish Church Chelsea, 1632. Three Chests.

Although the date was more than a century after Moore's beheading, it would seem more than reasonable that his family, and specifically his daughter Margaret, had brought the private collection of books and letters to a safe place. Certainly since the family property had been granted to William Paulet. Morus never had a good relation with the smooth Paulet who survived the reign of several kings by echoing whatever had to be echoed. Ian suspected that Margaret, probably even without the knowledge of her husband William Roper, had brought the most controversial writings to the cellars of the nearby parish church where they would be safe. The chest would disappear, without too much care, among the rest of the parish archives to reappear again after a century. After some flooding, it was decided to clean out the cellars of the church and the, unopened, chests were moved to a local library. Also at that time there was a continuous lack of funds, so the content remained undetected. When the library had to make place for the new ring road around London, a couple of containers were sent direction Cambridge. The central library of the university estimated their back-log to study the many donations, private collections, patrimonies and clean-ups at around fifty years. So the dusty crates from a forgotten parish church were adjoined in the old hangar, a single line on a list as the only reference. Waiting for better times which would never come. Till Ian broke the lid with a crowbar and paved his way patiently through the thousands of coagulated papers. Most of them were the old archives of the church with records of marriages, deaths, births, bills and boring sermons.

But one evening he finally bumped into what he was looking for.

The lost correspondence between Morus and his eldest daughter, while he was spending his last weeks locked up in the Tower of London.

For years he had studied the large collection of tightly written sheets and had finally achieved to recreate a logical order in the apparent confusing texts. Ian did not doubt for a moment that both Morus and his daughter had done this on purpose to divert both the political and religious leaders of the time. Not at least the always suspicious Paulet and Cromwell in protection of Margaret.

He had been able to reconstruct the last thoughts and ideas of a disillusioned and angry Morus. And he was the only one in the world who knew them.

For now.

Iveta Ferelli, his assistant, opened, after one distinct knock, the door and closed it again immediately behind her. Ian did not leave his contemplation. He was not even startled. After all they were the only people on this floor and, with the exception of a limited security staff, probably the only ones in the building. It was one of the back-up buildings, a mirror of the headquarters in Manhattan. Part of the _business continuity plan_ in case a disaster would make the HQ inoperable. At any given moment of day and night, this building could take over all of the functions without losing one bit of data or productivity.

But Ian preferred this building because it was discreet, easy to reach, provided ample parking and it was situated less than half an hour away from the private airport of Newark. Where he had landed earlier that day, nicely on time, with the corporate jet from Heathrow after he had taken leave from Vladimir and Juergen. He would no longer have this kind of luxury during the coming months and even years. But would he miss it? No, most certainly not.

Iveta put her hand on his shoulder and looked at the opposite side of the Hudson.

The twisting wide verge of the Palisades parkway and the steep banks of the Hudson finally showed a bright spring green after months of dull winter grey. She loved the view and was Ian still grateful that he had taken her away as his PA from the crowded office in Milan. Although she did not at all miss the hectic life of Milan nor the uncontrolled behaviour of the Italians, she longed from time to time to the warm sunny climate and the exuberant atmosphere around the _canali_ during the evenings. Here the winters could be treacherous. Especially since her house was situated a couple of kilometres to the north, in the Catskills. It made her trip to the office in her four by four sometimes into a real adventure.

After a moment of silence she said: "they have all arrived. The meeting can start. Shall I bring them in?"

Ian nodded: "yes, please do so. I am ready."

Iveta disappeared to come back followed by four men and one woman.

Ian greeted them. Cordially, yet with some reservation, addressing them by their first names and invited them around the large meeting table. The subject of the gathering was not to cover lightly nor to approach it with a misplaced upbeat attitude.

"I have been looking forward to this moment and I am sure that you also have been waiting patiently. And now we are there," he opened the meeting.

With a push of a button, the office was obscured by closing the curtains and dimming the small spots in the ceiling. Two wall panels disappeared silently and on a wide screen a presentation started which looked very much to what Ian had seen on Juergen's tablet the day before.

"As you all know, a couple of years ago, three years and seven months to be precise, we launched project Abacus. The purpose of the project was with the use of the most advanced algorithms running on the most advanced super computers to solve a number of complex simulations and equations. Aim was to predict as near perfect as possible what the future would look like in fifty years. Our staff and teams have all been working on subsets, individual small pieces. Other teams correlated the results of these small pieces into larger entities. Above that was another team correlating the correlations. Until the pyramid ended in one person. One person only who had the single overview and could see the total picture. And that picture is what you can see now on the screen. The result of the most likely equation.

For decades the world has been a roller-coaster, a raft on white water, going from one crisis to another. We all remember the financial crisis of 2008 that kept lingering on and finally escalated into the bankruptcy of most of the European countries. The stock markets in the world have been lately more closed for business than open to avoid a total collapse of the system. All logical consequences of fanatically moving production and even services to the low cost countries. Starting in the early twentieth century in Japan, Korea, Vietnam. Making a detour for not more than a decade into the Easter European countries like Bulgaria or Slovakia. Arriving in China and India. Now voices are heard to bring it all back to the US and Europe. The big _flaw_ in the whole concept was that the consumption stayed in the old west, Europe and North America. The west really became the land of the sunset when the buying power disappeared and with it the export market. In the meantime the producing countries had to become their own consumer market which inevitably lead to higher wages so that cheap production was no longer possible and had to be sought elsewhere. But there was no place to go anymore. The circle was round. Prices and cost of living had risen so that the gap between poor and rich was wider than ever. Riots in Bangalore and Guangzhou were the first signs of a faltering system. In panic industries tried to go back to their roots in Europe but could not get the funds to build the necessary new factories. The high unemployment in Europe and North America lead to a high degree of intolerance against minorities. Minorities that so far had enjoyed a unique status in a society that wanted to be tolerant and multi-cultural. But when people are hungry, there is no room for tolerance. Heavy riots in the streets of Rotterdam, the suburbs of Paris and Bonn, burning Milan and Stockholm. Witch hunts against everything and everyone that was different. A fertile ground for religious fanatics and we saw the appearance of Christian terrorism in the city centres where over the decades a large Muslim population had settled.

Next to that each day another doom scenario predicted the end of the world: global warming, comets, pandemics, the millennium, 2012, earthquakes and tsunamis, solar flares, the switching of the magnetic poles. Each day we are confronted with our share of disasters that will be the beginning of the end. But the earth is still spinning and does not want to go down, despite all of the predictions of Nostradamus and his gang.

At the end of the twentieth century there was a general consensus that within twenty to thirty years we would have gone through the world's oil reserves. What happened? New fields were discovered in the Antarctic's and in the mountains of Oman, larger than all oilfields so far combined. In the North Sea huge natural gas fields were chartered and exploited. Some large disasters with exploding oil platforms should have accelerated the adoption of alternative sources like solar energy or wind power, but these were hardly embraced as viable alternatives on a large scale.

So the pollution of the world continued. One after the other climate summits failed. The new industrial countries would not give up their newly acquired wealth and power. Other countries could buy CO2 certificates as a kind of modern indulgences. The result? Clean technologies such as hydrogen engines did not make an entry because nobody, company or investor, was interested to put money in an enterprise that could not promise a triple return in six months. Pilots clearly showing the potential of new technologies had to be put back into the fridge because there was nobody willing to build the supporting infrastructure. The existing fuel distribution infrastructure could not be adapted: too expensive and not lucrative. Certainly not for the governments who needed the taxes imposed on fossil fuels to fund their inefficient and money gobbling administrations.

Ladies and gentlemen, despite the gloom and doom that seems to be our everyday share, it looks like technology always comes up with an answer. But today's civilisation has been stretched to the limits and is being threatened by something new, never seen in the history of the earth.

There is one thing that slowly but surely has a devastating influence on our existence. And what I have said so far, can all be related to this one thing," Ian paused after this long monologue to underline the seriousness of what he was about to say.

"The one development that creeps in our society is the unstoppable growth of the human race. Today, even with all of the local conflicts, the illnesses, the natural disasters, the world population has exceeded the ten billion individuals. And yes, technology has helped in stretching the earth's ability to sustain this number. New ways of genetic engineering, the development of high nutrition foods, the production of clean water have solved the physical inconveniences. But have proven not to give a solution to a larger issue, the psychological needs of a human being. The rat-syndrome is no longer confined to the big cities with their high rises and worn out neighbourhoods. When too many rats are placed in one small room, they eat each other. Even when there is plenty of food. Our rat cage is no longer a densely populated area, it is now our earth.

Sociologically and economically we are steering full speed towards a total decay of our current way of living, our norms and quality of life. And that is what we have been predicting. As you can see on the dynamic chart, it is a matter of years. More riots, religious fanatics, one economic crisis after the other in rapid succession. We have been able to plot the complex links between all of these conditions and they will become more manifest, more clear. The result will be the collapse of our society and a total chaos that will put pressure on everything we have been working for. The ideal feeding ground for... anarchy."

Ian paused and drank from the glass of water that Iveta had put in front of him. He allowed his audience some time to look at the growing red patches. Then he resumed.

"Anarchy is the worst that can happen to us, to you. Because it means we have no control anymore. But there is a solution and that is why you are here and why we need your help. We have the technology not only to predict all of this, but also to intervene, to step up. In the pub we have all heard people exclaiming that there should be a good war to deal with all of this issues. What you see now on the screen is a graph showing the link between periods of war and periods of economical growth. The correlation is more than obvious. After a period of war there is always a period of prosperity. When a civilisation comes out of a war, the people have a different mind-set. Vis-à-vis investments and growth there is a _can-do_ mentality, rather than a bean counter point of view. The renaissance came after the Hundred Year War, the Golden Age after the Thirty and Eighty Year wars, the industrial revolution after the last Dutch war. The decades after the First and Second World War can be considered as periods with the highest welfare. Even the inter-bellum was a period of cultural and economical heights. Breakthroughs in medicine are almost always linked to the battlefields. Technological development gets an adrenaline shot when there is a military advantage to be obtained. Out of the box thinking comes easier when your life is in danger. Well, the population is ready for big changes. At a given moment, people _are ready for war_. Today we have the scientific knowledge to reverse the current situation to a solid basis on which we can build a new world. The current infrastructure and the squeezed economic model, does not allow for growth. On the contrary, it stops people, businesses and communities from growing. We must make _tabula rasa_. Clean ship. Back to the basics and bring a number of parameters to the normal values. Two of those parameters are in urgent need to be brought to the normal proportions: population and irrelevant structures like suffocating cities, polluting industries and inefficient communication. Today we can solve the danger of this ever growing population. Within the right framework and deploying the right technology we can demolish just enough to start again on a fresh page. The use of accurate conventional weapons will destroy the current outdated infrastructure with a clear understanding of the human casualties. The use of biological or nuclear weapons is unpredictable and misses the point of destroying the infrastructure that is in high need of being replaced and will be the engine of economical growth. We don't want nor need contaminated cities or soil, useless for years to come. No, the situation must be created that that the economy will jump-start, distributed over the continents bringing a new élan to our civilisation."

The projection on the screen had been turning from red back to green.

"So what you see here is the result of _controlled warfare_."

* * *

Chapter 11

The combination of familiar kitchen sounds coming from somewhere in the strange house, the sultry smell of sheets that felt moist and the brilliant light from the fast rising sun filtering through the linen curtains, awoke Jane with a feeling of being completely rested. She had no idea of the time. That almost got her a panic attack fearing that it was already past midday and that she had wasted the better part of the day.

Quickly she jumped out of the bed, not realising that the pain had gone from her knee. She enjoyed the warm shower, got into some clothes and ran downstairs via the large winding stairs. Tatters of an animated conversation between her sister and Pieter, interrupted now and then by Jackie's clear laughter, were meeting her in the hall. Jane caught herself on an envious tone when she entered the kitchen and said: "I hope I am not disturbing anything?"

She looked disapprovingly at Jackie who, only dressed in a man's shirt, sat on the sink. Her slender tanned legs dangling loosely. "And what brings you already here, miss sleep-in? Normally you are never awake before me."

Pieter was quick to answer: "hi Jane, certainly not. Join us, I have just prepared an Asian breakfast. Noodles, dim-sum, stirred and fried egg, chicken soup and, euh, yes that's about it. And some freshly baked rolls. And tea."

While Pieter was serving Jane, Jackie continued unflinchingly. She was not bothered by her sister's nasty comments. After all it was not her fault that her hair was just a bit fairer, that her eyes had just a bit more blue and that her legs were longer. That was the reason why Jane had forced a code of conduct onto her since she was seventeen to stay away from her boy friends.

"No big sister. But there is good news. Pieter has picked up the distress signal of our boat so we know that she is still afloat. The signal contains the GPS coordinates, so we know where she is. We were just looking on the map to see how best to reach the _Port of Call_. So, that is terrific news. It means that we can continue our trip once we have the mast repaired. A job they can certainly do at Diego. Or we can sail on the motor to the South Seychelles, any harbour over there will have a facility to repair boats."

Pieter added: "and there is more good news. It looks like your yacht was caught in a current that brought the ship closer to Egmont. That means it is within the reach of the Zodiac. I know you will miss the airplane, but it is what it is. Of course we don't know how sea-worthy she still is. It is not because the distress beacon is still functioning that the ship is not submerged already. So we'll have to take a look and I was just proposing to Jackie to join me."

Jane looked up from her noodles. She had to admit, for a male hermit he could create some really good dishes. "What's the time anyway?"

"Believe it or not sissy, it is only eight in the morning. It's been years that I got out of bed this early." Jackie stretched, jumped off the sink and winked to Pieter: "excuse me, but I will make myself ready. And oh yes, thanks again Pieter for the really wonderful evening last night. Apparently you are not the murderous hermit I expected you to be."

Jane followed with a frown her sparsely dressed sister. She hated it when Jackie was sucking it up. Pieter took a seat next to her, holding the maritime map in his hands. "So Jane, you did have a good rest, I assume?"

"If you take into account that it has been weeks since I have slept in a normal and non-moving bed, yes, I did sleep like a baby."

"In any case, you look well rested. So _you_ will be able to help me."

Jane looked at him quizzically while she was spooning the last drops of chicken soup from the bowl.

"I need someone to assist me with the boat as I will make another inspection round of the island. In normal circumstances it is something I do immediately after severe weather, but since you came in the picture the situation was not exactly what I would call normal. It has also been a while that I have taken the Zodiac on a longer trip so it will not hurt to warm up and test the engines beforehand. And I don't want to be the laughing stock of Diego when Jonathan has to send a rescue party to pick us up from a powerless boat."

Jane nodded approvingly, not that she had anything else planned, but it seemed a good idea to get to know the island a bit better. "And Jackie?" she asked.

"I asked her just before you entered but she wanted to stay here, catch up with mail and apparently update her social media pages. Bragging about her endeavours. Guess she also wants to work on her tan..."

"Oh, I thought you had already decided to go together. When I entered the kitchen I felt like a party pooper," remarked Jane colder than she intended.

Pieter grinned and lead the way to the spacious terrace at the back of the house. Jane breathed deeply the warm smooth air. The smell of the beach mingled with the damp leaves. The silence from last night was replaced with an alternating crashing of falling coconuts, the whistling and twittering of birds against the background of the surf. A corpulent insect hummed past Jane, it seemed to hesitate whether or not to come closer but disappeared suddenly. Jane tried to follow it with her eyes between the foliage. To her surprise she could spot the see and the beach between the trunks and the shrubbery.

_That_ would be her destination this afternoon.

Pieter appeared from the external cellar entrance pushing a trolley on large rubber tyres, loaded with jerry cans and a toolbox and made his way to the path that they had walked yesterday evening. In broad daylight it was easy to navigate around the uneven tiles and the roots which laid waiting like booby-traps. Jane thought the image of Pieter zigzagging behind the trolley was hilarious.

Abruptly the path changed into a wooden floor of about one and a half meter wide that was put over the beach. The floor separated after a couple of meters into two parts. The left branch headed for the pier where the Grumman lay peacefully like a big swan. The right branch lead to the boat house.

Jane pointed at the black tail that pointed at an straight angle out of the water about two hundred meters into the lagoon.

"Also one of your better landings?" she teased him.

"Nice try. But I am afraid that I have to pass the honour to the competition and well before my time, during the Second World War. It is the remains of a Japanese seaplane. At that time those things were used as reconnaissance planes. And he got lucky because I did not find any remains in the wreckage. The pilot must have been able to rescue himself. During that war the Japanese forces had troops all over these islands, mostly to man anti-aircraft guns. Or to serve as a radio relay station. Don't forget that they did not have satellites at that time. When we have some spare time we can go snorkelling to the wreck. It is amazingly well conserved. And it is interesting to observe how life has developed in and around the place. So, as long as it does not hinder anyone, I certainly have no problem with it."

Pieter continued to drudge with the trolley and hissed: "there is the boat house. It has been built on a concrete floor that used to serve as basis for the anti-aircraft guns. Inside you can still see the iron rails used to lead the guns. It must be the strongest building in a radius of a hundred miles."

Jane followed Pieter through a grating door. It took her eyes a while to adjust to the darkness inside the house. And her nose to get used to the sharp smell of oil, tar and fuel. The construction consisted of two parts. The smaller part was securely fastened to the concrete floor and contained cabinets and racks filled with dishevelled stuff. A work bench took most of the space at the far end. Closer to the water there stood two massive wooden trestles. Each trestle held an impressive Evinrude E-tec 300 outboard motor. A steel hoist beam spanned the ceiling. Chains with specially constructed iron hooks hung from a winch. The second and larger part covered a short fairway in which the rugged Zodiac was moored.

He started to unscrew the two Evinrudes from their trestles. Few days ago he had security fastened them with storm-bolts. When the last bolt fell into his hand, he declared, while caressing lovingly the shining white bonnets: "these two beauties are the last ones I want to lose."

Carefully he mounted the hooks and the chains in the right holes and took a bulky remote control. Gently he manoeuvred the first engine, accompanied by the loud rattling of the winch, till the mounting pin fell into the appropriate cavity in the Zodiac. With one leg on the concrete floor and the other balancing in the boat he also installed the second engine and connected the necessary electrical wiring and fuel hoses.

He gave Jane the sign to unknot the hawsers and she took Pieter's hand to jump on board. She took a seat next to him behind the windscreen. He turned the ignition key and the two powerful V6 engines obeyed immediately with a dark growl. Visibly he enjoyed the dark noise that was more powerful than any automobile engine sound. He opened the throttle just enough to glide slowly from the small dock into the lagoon. In a wide curve he steered around the wreck of the Japanese plane allowing Jane to see its new tenants: corals, kelp, algae, and fishes. Happily she said, "yes indeed, we certainly have to come back to snorkel and take pictures. It is wonderful."

Pieter took his binoculars and asked Jane to turn towards the north westerly passage, the channel that divided the Egmont Island into the unpopulated _ile tattamucca_ and the smaller _Ile carne pate_. Still going slowly through the calm pale blue water between the two pearl-white beaches they approached the coral reefs situated a couple of hundred meters from the shore. Pieter had been studying the shore line for possible debris or damage but was happy that nothing could be detected.

"Good, good," he repeated, "you cannot imagine how many ships are still abusing the bad weather to clean their tanks. It would not be the first time the beach is contaminated with oil."

Jane saw that the sea became darker at the other side of the reef. The waves burst over the higher parts of the coral that was just above or just below the waterline. Pieter took the helm to carefully cross the reef. Immediately Jane felt that the boat swayed more heavily and the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, indicating that they now were entering the ocean. Pieter throttled hard and the powerful engines catapulted the Zodiac away from the island, throwing Jane almost from her seat. She poked him in the ribs. Apparently he could not stop teasing.

Pieter shouted against the noise of the engines and the smacking of the hull against the waves: "at this speed we should be there in less than an hour. Tell me when you feel uncomfortable or nauseous."

Jane nodded as if she had understood and did not even make an effort to reply against the combined noise of engines and wind.

She decided to enjoy the ride and the view.

After an hour Pieter throttled back and gave Jane one of the binoculars. "Why don't you screen starboard?" He tapped on the large screen of the GPS receiver. "We have arrived at the position transmitted by your distress signal. I am a bit concerned that we don't see anything and that the yacht sank after all. This GPS is very accurate."

Some minutes passed where only the soft murmur of the engine and the slashing of the swell against the boat could be heard. Then suddenly Jane spotted the boat and started to yell. She pointed into the direction and Pieter sped up the boat.

Carefully they approached the yacht, precautionary slow to avoid floating ropes or cords. He did not want to run the risk to be faced with the frustrating job of cutting a rope that was tightly caught in the propeller. Coming closer Pieter found a good spot to fasten the Zodiac to the tilted yacht.

"This is amazing. It must be a strong ship," he pointed at the waste-hole from which a constant stream of water spurted. "The bilge pump must have worked the whole night. And judging by the immersion, it looks like she didn't take more water then when we left her."

Pieter leaped onto the ship, lost his equilibrium on the slippery deck and fell against the hard polyester folding table mounted behind the steering wheel. He cursed and tried to regain his balance. It seemed that the tilting of the boat was more severe when standing on the ship compared to looking at it from a distance. He disappeared into the cabin where he made his way through a maze of debris. Finally he found what he was looking for: the hatch towards the engine room. Curiously he pulled at the ring and disappeared half into the small manhole. As he had hoped, the engine and the electronics had been spared. It remained a mystery, but he liked it.

He took one of the flashlights that were fixed close to the fuse panel and tried to inspect as deep as possible into the hull. He immediately understood why the ship had not sunk. The _Port_ _of Call_ was equipped with special airbags that inflated once certain sensors detected that the boat was making water. The filled airbags, made from the same material as his Zodiac, had pushed the water out and sealed off the cavities in the hull. Now he also understood the debris. Some of the bags were mounted in storage space and when going off the content had erupted into the main cabin. He thanked Jane's father for being such a visionary.

He crawled back on deck. Jane was looking expectantly from the Zodiac. He put up his thumb. "You can be very grateful to your father that he equipped the boat with advanced safety features like airbags. Anyway, I suggest we try to save the sails but the mast will have to be chopped. The boat will straighten up automatically and with some luck we can sail on the engine to our island. And if we are really lucky I can pull some strings at Diego to mount a new mast, despite all of their military secrets. Can you please pass me the red tool box?"

Jane moaned as she levered the heavy box over the rails of the yacht. He offered his arm to pull her on board.

"The airbags are providing sufficient buoyancy and I don't think there are any major holes in the hull. But we will only know for sure once the boat is straight on the water again. You never know whether the mast has damaged the hull below the waterline. Let's bring in those sails first."

On knees and hands Pieter slid towards the middle of the boat and slipped alongside the mast into the water. Cautious not to get entangled in the sheets and shrouds, he dived to the top located about two meters under the surface, to loosen the blocked sheave. He had to dive a couple of times before he finally succeeded. On his way back he convinced himself that the main sail was not stuck anywhere and, whistling happily, he hoisted himself back on the boat. With the help of Jane they succeeded, not effortless, to retrieve the main sail and later on the jib.

Armed with a pair of pincers, a hacksaw and a short axe he returned to the mid deck. One by one he clipped the stays which disappeared into the water with a whippy _ziiing_. With the axe he chopped the remaining sheets and, taking care not to damage the teak deck, removed with the saw the twisted mast step. The aluminium tore and with some well aimed stamps the mast came loose and slid into the deep.

The _Port of Call_ levelled surprisingly fast and Jane and Pieter had to clutch to the rails not to be thrown overboard on the other side.

"Wow, that went well," Jane shouted while she straightened up, holding herself to Pieter, "let's hope the engine will start."

Without the mast and the stays it was not so evident to walk on the boat, even with a modest swell. Walking was rather shuffling sideways on hands and knees till they reached the cabin entrance. Pieter kicked the debris aside and put his head in the engine compartment. Despite the hard work of the bilge pump, there was some water in the engine room. He checked again and saw that the engine, mounted on large rubber blocks, stood above the waterline and that batteries and electrical installation looked dry enough. "OK, you can start the engine" he shouted to Jane who had taken place in front of the steering wheel.

With Pieter bent over to check on the engine, Jane pushed the start button. After some attempts it sputtered and gradually warmed up. The bilge pump immediately ran faster now that it did no longer have to function on the practically empty batteries.

Pieter closed the hatch and climbed the four stairs to stand next to Jane. "Can you already enter the coordinates in the auto pilot? It is 6°40' South and 71°21' East. Meanwhile I will attach the Zodiac to the aft."

When he came back he returned behind the wheel and pushed the large stainless steel gas lever. Slowly the Port of Call moved and after she reached her cruising speed, Pieter engaged the auto pilot. She was still heavy to handle, but that would change with the water completely pumped. Pieter zoomed in on the GPS chart to verify the course and cross checked the direction with the large oil compass just behind the helm stand.

He looked at Jane who was wrestling with her hair blowing in all directions. She had unfolded the table between the twin steering columns and looked content. She was obviously pleased that the ship was saved, although it looked like an odd iron without the mast. Pieter joined her: "at this speed, it will take us a couple of hours. Do you have any cards to kill the time?"

Jane smiled. "Yes, but they are probably floating somewhere in the cabin. It will be a nightmare to get everything dry."

She paused. "I realize that, unlike my sister this morning, I have not yet thanked you for our rescue. And thanks for the hospitality. I can imagine that someone who has been used to live on his own may have some issues with visitors."

Pieter shook his head: "no worries, it has indeed been a welcome diversion in a rather boring existence. But then again, I did kind of choose it."

Jane quickly took up on the last sentence: "yes indeed, I was already wondering how you ended up here. A broken love? An escape from an eventful past? Do you want to share the juicy details of your life?"

"Would you believe me if I said that it is still a mystery to me?"

"No," she answered dryly.

"Yet it is the truth. One blue Monday my editor-in-chief called me in his office informing me about my move. My recent articles and interviews on some touchy subjects had made some influential people angry. Those were the times that one wondered about freedom of press. Publishing companies went down because of the many legal cases they received each time a critical voice was raised on some high ranked politician or business man. My new assignment was to leave for the Egmont islands to report on the execution of the decade old agreement by the British government to proclaim the Chagos Archipelago as one of the largest marine reserves. What the hell did I know about marine reserves? Hundred of young biologists would have died to get a job like than. The argument was that they did not need another biologist, but a man to keep a watchful eye on the many research vessels and that these would not be disguised fishing ships."

"That must have kept you _very_ busy," Jane remarked sarcastically. She stood up and made her way to the outside galley. She unlocked a small refrigerator and took out a bottle of champagne and glasses. She passed the bottle to Pieter. "Careful when you open it. It might burst like a formula 1 celebration. Jackie and I wanted to save it for our party after finishing the first leg of our trip. But I guess salvaging the yacht is a better reason."

He opened the bottle cautiously but still the champagne gushed out, spilling over the deck.

"Oh well, in Greece they always spill the first drop to thank the earth and the gods for all the great things that sprout from them. We have now said grace to Neptune."

Pieter continued: "believe it or not, I was quite occupied. First there was the restoration of the house by the engineering troops of Diego. For them it was a welcome challenge compared to plopping down barracks. And then the base closed down for research-vessels so they all arrived at my place. Thankfully they disappeared soon once they realised that I could not offer them each day eggs or pancakes for breakfast. One thing is certain on a remote US naval base: you get pampered. I also believe that by that time the interest in Chagos and its marine wildlife was back to an all-time low. Researchers also follow the money, you know."

"But why did you accept this transfer? Surely they could not force you to go?" Jane asked.

"Investigative journalism is about uncovering things. But it is also about making people think independently. Making them realize that sometimes they are manipulated by churches, by religion, by politics, banks, by newspapers and by other people. That their freedom can just be an illusion. To show people that things get covered up. Apparently I uncovered a bit too much. So the court cases started to pour in, followed by threats and blackmail."

"You could be blackmailed?"

Pieter laughed and filled the glasses again. "Not me. But when the people around you receive threats, than you need to take up your responsibilities. So my editor received a letter, followed by a certain phone call. He had to stop me or the agency would be closed. The letter came from the shareholders. The independent media is big business like any other business. And having a thousand people on the street would not look good on my bosses resume. So, my research team got dismantled and I was kindly asked to keep myself busy with the Chagos islands. Now, I have to admit there was a carrot. Because two things were happening. The first was the official assignment to keep an eye on the reserve. But the second thing was the ump-teenth promise by the British government that the original population, at least their grand children, could return to Diego and the surrounding atolls. Unofficially I was treading into the footsteps of John Pilger who had decades ago unveiled this twentieth century scandal of modern mass deportation. However, I did underestimate the _investigation in isolation_. Despite all of the modern communication, I soon was forgotten by the editors or at best, regarded as a nasty bug which was thankfully thousands of miles away."

Jane sipped from her glass. "I have not seen too much of an indigenous population on Diego. Or did I miss them?"

"No, in all silence the plan was swept under the carpet. The de-militarization of Diego should have paved the way. But as you heard from Jonathan, that changed abruptly again. For years there has not been such a high military activity on the island. The few natives who had returned were kicked off again. Even Jonathan does not know what is going on. Especially his new commander likes to keep things to himself."

There was a silence. They admired the bubbles in the champagne.

Reflectively Pieter said after a while: "I guess the positive thing is that one becomes more philosophical when living secluded."

"No, that is just you getting older," she teased him.

"Probably too. But seriously, you have all the time to think about life, what you have done with it or not have done with it."

"So what has become your life philosophy? Stoicism? Romanticism? Liberalism?"

"I think I would describe it as plain humanism. In its purest form. The absolute focus on freedom. I once read a treaty by Reese, it dated back from nineteen hundred twenty or so. It was simply called "Humanism". So far it has been the most comprehensive little book that explains the essence of humanism. The style is a bit outdated, but he touches upon the essence and the essential questions. For instance: how do you combine individual freedom with rules governing a society? In my absolute freedom, I am allowed to kill someone. But that person, in his absolute freedom has the right to live. Those juxtapositions are the basis of a balanced but dynamic society. That is also what I blame every religion. They don't respect the individual freedom by, one, forcing people's thinking into a singular direction and two, by displaying a sort of resignation that all will be solved by an unknown god. Those elements kill free intelligent thinking. Why do you think that science and religion have been water and fire for centuries? Even today? But the worst part of religion is the urge to convert the others. It is nothing else than a way of overpowering the other."

"So you don't believe in a God?"

"I believe in the physical law of the preservation of energy. Our lives, our existence, it is all part of a larger entity. When we die, our energy goes up in our surrounding. Sometimes that goes very smoothly and the energy gets evenly distributed. Sometimes it is shocking and the energy leaves in bursts, glued together. Maybe sometimes with some memory. That viewpoint can be the explanation of a lot of things ranging from reincarnation, speaking with the deceased and even the unexplained phenomenon of people who believe they were a soldier in a previous life or suddenly start to speak another language. Anyway, enough about me. What about you, do you believe in a god?"

"I am a simple translator, Pieter. Yes, I believe there is a God who watches over us and takes care of us."

"But isn't that a bit deterministic? If that God of yours decides on what is happening, where is your freedom? It is like predictions. If there is such a thing like predictions, than free will does not exist. Everything has been plotted out and no matter what you do, it was your determination to do so. This leads to phlegmatic thinking and, quite frankly, passivity. Or the theory of the infinite parallel universes."

"No, I don't see it like that. God is not determining my life. I am in charge of what I am doing. You call it energy, I call it God. Who made your energy in the first place? The big bang? And who made the big bang or are you also making it easy like most of the big bang theorists that that is not a subject of investigation because there was nothing before the big bang? Avoiding the discussion what is nothing."

"So why could energy not just be? Most religions don't question that their God just is. Honestly, we don't even really grasp what energy is. Is it a wave, a collection of vibrating strings?"

Jane laughed, "well, if God equals energy and energy equals mc square, than God is mass multiplied by the speed of light squared. Problem solved. Me happy, you happy, Einstein happy."

Pieter was not impressed: "I have seen that one before. Surely it is not that simple."

Jane sighed, "that was a _joke_ , Pieter. Don't get caught up in your deadly earnest."

He smiled and relaxed. "You are absolutely right Jane. Let's talk about the lighter things in life. Tell me about your love life."

"That, my dear, is none of your business. And now I will exercise my freedom to retreat and tan on the deck while you can bring me safely to your shed."

She swayed on her feet. "Good champagne, I can already feel it in my head."

* * *

Chapter 12

The flexible stems of the palm trees lulled softly the hammock in which Jackie had dozed off. She startled when her sub consciousness registered the swelling noise of an approaching plane. Through her lashes she squinted the sheer blue sky when suddenly a small cargo plane skimmed the treetops. In a reflex she pulled her head protectively between her shoulders. She jumped out of the hammock and walked to the beach where she waved with broad gestures to the plane that started to climb again. She wondered whether it would disappear, but it turned and made its way to the island.

For a moment she wondered what the purpose could be, till she saw a small object drop with in its wake an unfolding parachute. It was obvious that the pilot was experienced since the package landed nicely on the wide beach, just meters away from Jackie.

Quickly she approached the pack, the vivid red scarf fluttering between her legs. The package was wrapped in a thick dark-green coarse fabric that was tightly knot, as if it were a fishing net, with strong ropes. After some fiddling she was able to untie the parachute which immediately was blown into the shrubs. She fumbled at one of the loose seams and could see tins and cans, in plastic wrapped clothes, cardboard boxes and even some bottles. Curiously she wanted to open up the whole pack, but she could restrain herself. After all, it was meant for Pieter. Instead she decided to make herself useful and to drag the whole lot inside. Most likely it contained perishables that did not combine very well with the heat on the beach. She tried to lift the package as a whole, but that proved to be above her powers.

She stepped through the warm sand to where the parachute was flapping in the bushes. She curled it up into a ball and dashed back to the package. She unfolded the parachute and rolled the pack onto it. To her own satisfaction she managed to drag it via the beach path to the front of the house and dropped it on the floor of the cool hall. In this moist climate it was not evident to conduct heavy work.

"Ouch," she thought, "now I understand why everyone in the tropics spends most of their time under a palm-tree. Let me contact Pieter and Jane to alert them that we are saved from starvation."

She entered Pieter's bedroom and sat at the table with all of the broadcasting equipment. Jackie quickly found the main transmission radio. On the digital clock she noticed that it was already well after mid day. Jackie typed on the wireless keyboard the frequency that Pieter had provided her earlier that morning. She pushed the send button and talked in the microphone: "Come in, Pieter. This is Jackie, can you hear me?"

The headphones only returned the noise of the static discharges in the atmosphere. Vaguely she could distinguish Pieter's answer. She turned the large fine tune dial and called again: "hallo Pieter, can you hear me?"

The clear answer came back immediately: "Hi Jackie, yes. I can hear you loud and clear. Is everything ok?"

"Of course, no problems. I just wanted to inform you that a package has been dropped and I just dragged it inside. Is it ok for me to open it up and store the stuff? I assume there is fresh food included that is better off in the fridge. Not to speak of the bottles of white wine."

"Sure. Please go ahead. We are making good progress here. The good news is that we have not only saved the boat but also the world. The overall condition of the yacht is excellent but it will take weeks before the interior is dry. You will be sleeping in a wet bed, my dear. But anyway, you will be back on the sea in no time."

Jackie replied: "great, I just cannot wait to get going again."

"See you soon, over and out," Pieter ended.

Jackie pushed the _off_ button and the soft buzzing of the electronics stopped. She turned around a couple of times on the revolving chair and looked, without a specific purpose, around the room.

The room had all the signs that it used to be the master bedroom. She was notably larger than the rooms she and Jane had spent the night. The ceiling was masterly decorated and during the renovation much of the original woodwork had been restored. On the place where there undoubtedly used to hang a majestic chandelier, first with candles, than on gas and much later on electricity, Pieter had installed a modern fan that evenly stirred the cool air in the room with slow turning vanes. On one of the walls hung a large, discoloured poster with as caption _Kuifje en Hergé aan Zee. Expositie Oostende, 7 juni – 30 september 2007._

She stood up and walked to the antique ebony bookshelf and rubbed with her finger over the covers of the many books. At irregular intervals the row of books was interrupted with figurines of Tintin. Silently she read the titles: "Utopia, A History of Western Philosophy, _Moriae encomium, sive Stultitiae laus,_ Songs of Experience, Mmmm, heavy stuff. You have a bit of a weird taste, haven't you Mister Pieter?"

She took a couple of comic books from a pile located brotherly next to the world literature. She recognised the _Tintin_ series, but the pile of _Suske en Wiske_ and _De Rode Ridder_ did not ring a bell. The last ones narrating the adventures of a wandering knight in red armour who had a preference for busty fays and noble ladies. She tried to decipher some of the text balloons but could understand very little of the language. Maybe that is why the man from the control tower called him The Red Knight. She could imagine Pieter with Jonathan hanging in the bar, drunk, making dirty jokes about busty women. She shook her head.

It would not surprise her if he was actually reading all of these books. After all, what else did he have to do here? On a low coffee table more books and old newspapers were piled and also besides the leather couch there were books. On top of them lied a well-thumbed black jotter. Jackie sank away in the soft three-seater and picked up the booklet, carefully observing its original position so nobody would find out she had peeked inside. Some loose clippings fell out of the cover. Hastily she pushed them back, hoping that they had not been inserted in a certain order. Otherwise she would definitely be caught.

She turned the first pages and started to read diagonally the small, even, but not very readable handwriting. The notebook mixed snippets of a journal, loose scribbles and thoughts, to-do lists, website addresses, drawings, sketches, diagrams and chapters of what appeared to be the beginning of a book. She thumbed through the pages but straightened when one name caught her attention: _Ian Summerton_. She started to read attentively.

Jackie jumped up with a scream, dropping the notepad when she felt the hand in her neck.

"I think that you must have been the one making a big fuss when someone had been sniffing around in your personal stuff," said Peter harshly.

Jackie flamed red and stammered some rambling excuses. Pieter picked up his notebook and put it back on the pile.

She cringed with shame and cursed herself to have been so nosey. She could not believe that she had not heard Pieter and Jane arriving. With hanging shoulders she followed him downstairs where Jane gave her a questioning look. Jane was experienced in interpreting Jackie's body-language so she asked suspiciously: "Oooookay, what have you been up to?"

"I am really sorry; it was not my intention to poke my nose in Pieter's business nor to read private things."

"Have you lost your marbles? You don't do that when you are a guest, you just never do that," Jane snorted.

Pieter answered in her place: "well, I hope you are fully convinced that I am not a psychopathic murderer. But frankly, I don't understand why you were so caught up in my notebook. I am flattered, but my collection of mistakes is not that interesting."

"I recognized the name of Ian Summerton so I continued reading."

"Do you know him?"

"He is a close friend of our father. Over the past months we had him a couple of times in the house. Each time his presence guaranteed lively discussions."

"On what?"

"Well, dad has been for years the Australian minister of foreign affairs. Recently he withdrew himself from the active politics to concentrate on his true passion: biology and biodiversity. He is a maritime biochemist and associated professor at the University of Adelaide. Next to that he also serves on the board of a number of companies active in biological sciences. When Ian Summerton came the discussions evolved around questions like what is the minimum bio diversity required in an environment, or how sea life could be genetically modified to breed in fresh water tanks. Apparently Ian was working on some project to increase the nutritious output from sea-life. So why are you interested in him?"

Pieter sat down and started: "some years ago I literally bumped into Ian in Cambridge, England. He had just finished a reading on a development project that he wanted to set up. And huge it was as he made a case to channel half of the global foreign aid into his project. His argument was that this would pay for itself simply by streamlining the current money-swallowing inefficiencies in management and distribution, and the lack of focus over the thousands of projects. He expatiated convincingly to bundle all the efforts and funds into one large project that would serve the whole world, rather than the current trial and error that was only a drop on a hot plate. I was sent by my agency to interview Ian and I got to know him as a very intelligent man. However, one with a dark side. I don't know why but I thought it a bit suspicious that the CEO of one of the largest consulting companies put so much effort in arguing his case in a small, musty classroom. Of course there was a gigantic amount of money involved, but still. So, I started to dig deeper into Ian's business and personality."

"And what did you find out?" Jane asked.

"That you cannot find out anything about Ian if Ian does not want it. _That_ was my main conclusion. In itself alarming. I have never met in my life someone with so much power. And the most conspicuous is that he is completely inconspicuous. Ian hardly granted interviews and seldom came in the news. But wherever an important decision was taken in the world, you could rest assured that he or his company were involved. His impact on global decisions was amazing. It made me wonder who really pulls the strings. Trust me; he is more than an influencer. He is the ultimate decision maker. The official instances are merely puppet speaking tubes."

"So why did you call your little booklet a series of mistakes?" Jackie interrupted.

"Firstly because I was transferred to this island and secondly because I was unable to discover Ian's real purposes nor could I penetrate into his organisation."

Jane sighed: "maybe there is nothing bigger going on and you have been chasing like many others the path of a non existing conspiracy. For instance, what happened with that big development project? As far as I am concerned, development aid is still a big mendacity without tangible results, surrounded by the suspicion of fraud because for some people it is free money. Luckily there are still volunteers who devote themselves to their good cause, as small as that cause or project might be. But I guess that is just proving Ian's point about the lack of focus. A lot of good-will but no results."

While listening, Pieter had lit the large stainless steel gas barbeque. The steaks hissed on the grill while he cut a large iceberg salad in long snippets.

"Thanks again for putting the frozen meat promptly in the freezer like you told us over the radio." He pondered on Jane's question. She might be right that it was nothing but a conspiracy that only existed in his mind.

Jackie looked guiltily because she had forgotten completely about the package and all frozen foodstuffs had been defrosted. They had tried to rescue what could be rescued. But apart from the sizzling ostrich steak they had to throw away most of it. Specifically the loss of the _straciatella_ -ice had made Pieter sad. He arranged the meat on the plates and they started to eat.

They all looked dreamingly to the afternoon sun that had slowly started its descent. A trail of clouds high up in the sky predicted more bad weather for the coming days. All of a sudden Pieter continued, as if he had been continuing the conversation in his head the whole time while they were eating and happily chitchatting.

"So, I am keeping up with this life for three years now, while the original idea was to be here for a couple of months. Not that I regret it. A man gets used to everything. I am not even sure whether I would still fit in the so called civilisation. At a given moment you really become a recluse who just happens to run the most distant and least visited bed and breakfast. Of course; one that has the largest pool in the world. The trick to survive is not to become eccentric. Am I eccentric?"

Jackie and Jane smiled pitying and tactically changed the subject: "talking about swimming pools. Do you realize that we have not even bathed in the lagoon? And Pieter, you had all the fun earlier today swimming in the ocean playing with the sail."

He agreed: "Not a bad idea. Let's snorkel to the wreck. As Jane has seen it from the Zodiac, it promises to be a unique show."

Pieter had not exaggerated. The hydroplane, as he loved to call it, had sunk almost vertically and stood on its two floats on the reef. Different kind of corals had found a nourishing berth on the steel and coiled like stalagmites along the supports to the wings. The many holes and niches in the former instrument panel were populated by families of flashy fish. Anemones swayed gently in the slow current. The lagoon was not very deep so they could leisurely snorkel in the crystal clear water to enjoy the colourful scene. Lack of natural predators had boosted the sea life in the lagoon to an unseen abundance. Two small lobsters were fighting over a hole and started to box on their hind legs. Jane took her underwater camera to take a picture of this comic tableau. Even the flashlight could not scare the two small bantams away.

The sky painted crimson when they climbed onto the pier. It was pleasantly warm outside which made them shiver when they went into their climatized rooms to take a shower and change.

Jane showed up first and sat opposite Pieter in the broad light-grey couch in the large living room. He had prepared some finger food and placed the bowl on the glass table. He poured her a glass of red wine. She lifted her legs comfortably and tasted with closed eyes the cooled wine.

"It is the first time that I drink cold red wine. I wouldn't mind repeating the experience."

It was almost midnight when they finally went to bed. Pieter decided to unwrap the rest of the package that was still lying in the middle of the hall. He placed the cans and tins tidily on the shelves. He noticed the brown envelope on which his name was written in large letters. It contained the iPod of the deceased soldier. The iPod was also wrapped in a note containing a message of Jonathan. It was a short message.

Pieter. Urgently check the content of this iPod. There is evidence that Votilio wanted to steal information from Diego Garcia's computers. Most of the documents are cosmic secret. The highest level. And when you read the content, you will know why. Call me ASAP. Jonathan.

In fact he did not feel at all to follow this inflated military secrecy. Pieter searched for his mobile phone to call Jonathan that he would take a look at it sometime tomorrow. Now he had too much to drink. He remembered that he had left the phone in his room. With the iPod in his hand he ran upstairs where he saw on the display of the phone _24 missed calls_. It was a long time ago that he had seen something like that. He pushed the inbox button and noticed that all calls and messages had come from Jonathan. Apparently there was a sense of urgency after all. He took a closer look at the iPod and connected the device to his computer. He started to browse into the hidden sectors of the hard drive and clicked, more or less at random, on one of the many icons that had appeared.

Increasingly amazed, he started to read the content of the files.

* * *

Chapter 13

Ian Summerton seemed satisfied. A couple of hours after his briefing session ended, he set up a video conferencing with Vladimir and Juergen. The success of their plan depended completely on a good coordination. And although Ian was more the man of the big vision, he realised that this time small details could be decisive on the success or failure of their plot.

That is why he had been furious when Jonathan had called him about Votilio. A stupid coincidence had pushed a whole series of events into a different, unwanted, direction. Fortunately Stratford was not a man to be easily thrown off his balance and he had immediately initiated plan B. The disadvantage of plan B was the timing, but Jonathan had been able to convince him that he would be able to compensate for that. In the end, Summerton was even inclined to prefer plan B. His anger had disappeared and he had been able to concentrate again on the next steps that were in his hands.

In the call he was going to review those next steps. But first he wanted to know how their briefings had been received and whether they expected new issues. Now there was still the time to make corrective actions. Once the plan was in execution, it would be very hard to make adaptations.

The auto focus of the conference camera zoomed in and out on Vladimir's face when he lifted his head from his papers and looked straight into the lens. With a slight Russian accent he greeted Ian. "Is Juergen late again?" he stated more than he asked. Ian replied stoical: "yes, those young guys." Vladimir nodded sternly. He could not understand why Ian tolerated so much from Juergen. He thought the man was nothing more but a snobbish technocrat without any experience. At last Juergen's voice came out of the speakers: "I am here, I am here. There seems to be something wrong with the video. I will need to reboot, I am afraid."

Before Vladimir or Ian could shout that the call would work fine even if they could not see his face, he had logged off.

After a couple of minutes, Vladimir suggested Ian to give him a call on his mobile. "Knowing Juergen, he can now keep himself busy for a hours and forget all about us. He is a child."

Ian ignored the hardly concealed dislike in Vladimir's voice. Ian knew that Juergen could become so absorbed, and become nervous, if something did not function properly. Without waiting, Vladimir took out his mobile and scrolled through the address book. Irritated he threw the phone on his desk. "Voicemail, he does not even have the decency to pick it up."

Finally Juergen's face appeared as the third party on the call. "Hello guys, I was able to repair it. It was only the..." But Vladimir interrupted him with his deep voice: "Yes yes, let's get started now. We have lost enough time.

Ian greeted him also: "Welcome Juergen. And if one of you would also be so kind as to remove the mobile phone away from the speakers than we will not be disturbed by the annoying interference of the GSM signal."

Sheepishly Juergen moved his phone away. Ian continued undisturbed: "So Juergen, as punishment we will start with you."

The nightly meeting in Brussels had not posed any problems. Juergen had given the same presentation as Ian, albeit with some more special effects. The discussions afterwards had been more difficult and fierce. He had almost lost his temper when after years of lobbying the carefully selected group was on the verge of pulling off now that it was time for action. Juergen had to intervene and with harsh wording had criticised their quarrels as symptomatic for Europe's inability to signify anything in the world. The union was restored after he had threatened that the rest would continue in any case. He had sent them away with clear instructions what to do and how to react to the upcoming events.

"You have witnessed a great sample of misplaced chauvinism," concluded Ian. "But as always, personal interests prevail in the end. And what about you, Vladimir?"

Although Vladimir had faced the challenge to deal with representatives from Russia, China and India, the discussions had been short. While the Europeans started a debate on about everything, his group kept silent, not letting the others look into their cards. His fear that the Indian and Chinese would pull off at the last moment, even if it was to do their own thing, had been premature. On the contrary, the only animated discussion had been between the Indians and Russians on how to split the Middle East and what to do with the lingering religious fanaticism. With the diminishing power of oil, the arguments had been less economical than sociological. The Chinese delegates had kept themselves aside, but Vladimir knew that they were keen on expanding to the south west: Vietnam, Tibet and Laos. And to the east also with Korea, Taiwan and Singapore. Obviously his group had the most, hardly concealed, hidden agenda's.

But that was all calculated into the plan.

And so Vladimir's group had left Delhi early in the morning with clear instructions to closely monitor the coming events.

Ian gave his account to close the conference call. His concern had been the attitude of South America and the Brazilian envoy. Although she was known as the strong woman behind many scenes, she seemed to be unconcerned to bring unity on the continent. Probably Ian would have to follow her closely to understand her motivation, specifically since Latin America played an important part in his calculations. Maybe he had to initiate his plan B also, but decided not to do so. Not now, at least.

"I suggest that we all take some rest now because we might not get the chance to sleep a lot the coming days," concluded Ian, "we will speak each other tomorrow. Keep an eye on Stratford's messages. As you know some things went wrong there but he has everything back under control. So be alert."

The monitors blackened as the connections terminated.

Iveta entered the room, this time without knocking. She took a seat next to him and held his hand. More than anyone else, even his wife and children, she had witnessed the build-up of pressure inside Ian. She had been his loyal and discrete PA, working on presentations and reports throughout the nights, contacting people, and ran background checks. Plainly be available for him. As only daughter of Italian and Slavic diplomats she had not only inherited the good looks, but had also an inexhaustible glutton for work.

She stood up, caressed her hand on his shoulder and walked into the small, but luxurious bedroom.

Iveta said: "I called your wife that you will not be coming home tonight."

* * *

Chapter 14

"Hello Jonathan, this is Pieter."

Stratford sat straight and put the telephone on speaker.

"I have just had a look at Votilio's iPod. What is that all about?" His voice sounded excited but in disbelief.

Stratford answered whispering, almost conspiratorial: "Pieter, listen, something strange is going on. I start to understand why there has been such an increased security over the past months. If those documents are real, and if I get it right, than we are heading for a downright catastrophe. "

"You say it, how can we be certain that all of this is true? Maybe one or another idio..."

Stratford interrupted Pieter sharply. "Listen, somebody died over this. Somebody got shot. This is not some lame joke. Believe me, this is very real."

"Well, in any case I am impressed that you have been able to detect this. The files were hidden professionally on the hard drive." There was some silence. "What do I need to do now, Jonathan? How are we going to tell this to the world? You are the best person to stop this nonsense, now that you still can."

"Look, I am being watched here by everyone and you know that all of our communications get screened. Why do you think that Votilio wanted to smuggle that information on an iPod in stead of just mailing it as an attachment? You are dealing here with an American base at the highest level of security. Even during the cold war the restrictions were not so severe. All mails need to pass an advanced data loss protection system that picks up any anomaly. No, _you_ need to bring this into the open. If I use the military channels nobody will ever get informed. It will be intercepted and somehow it will sink into oblivion. And I will sink to the bottom of the ocean. I am sorry Pieter that I am involving you, but I need your help. I am counting on you to bring this to the outside world."

"Sure, I will mail it to my contacts. They can..."

Again the nervous Stratford interrupted him. "Do you really believe that your messages are not screened? Via which satellite do you think you can chat and mail with those contacts? I am afraid you will need to find a way to take the information personally out of here."

Pieter hesitated: "well, yes, we have been able to bring in the _Port of Call_. On the engine I can reach Mauritius. From there I can get away."

"One moment, Pieter, somebody is knocking on my door. I am expecting Oona. She is the only one whom I can still trust here on the base. Stay on the phone."

Pieter could hear a door being opened followed by Jonathan's voice saying: "come in Oona. I just have Pieter on the line and... what are you doing?"

Pieter grew rigid with fear when he heard two unmistakeable shots, followed by a vague thumping upon which the connection was terminated.

From the first moment they met, Bramaud disliked Stratford. And he knew it was reciprocal. He did not often have it, that unfounded feeling very close to hatred. From time to time he had stepped back and tried to make a neutral analysis why he had such a dislike for the man. But he had never identified a cause. It would never be fine between them. And in the current circumstances Bramaud knew that that predicted bad news.

"And, everything goes according to plan?" Bramaud picked up the two shells from the floor.

Jonathan smiled blandly. He knew he was not going to be able to trust Bramaud when push came to shove and that he meant trouble sooner or later. Problems he could certainly miss at this crucial stage of the Abacus project. Unfortunately he needed Bramaud for now.

"Why don't you do the necessary to start a search operation for Pieter the next couple of hours. He will take the _Port of Call_ to Mauritius. Make sure he never arrives."

Bramaud looked at him suspiciously; this was not according to the plan. Jonathan sighed irritated. "Trust me; I know what I am doing. Blow that ship once and for all out of the water. It should have gone down in the first place. But I think it serves us well now."

"And what if the two girls are also on board?" He tried to throw in.

"Unlikely. I am sure that Pieter has left them behind. But if so, they are irrelevant to our mission. They just happened to be in the wrong time at the wrong place. Too bad for them, but these things happen." Jonathan turned around and left the sound-proof meeting room where he and Bramaud had spent time earlier that day with Votilio's iPod. This time he walked down the stairs to the computer room. He looked at his watch which showed seven minutes past midnight. Despite the hour all seats on the large circular floor were occupied. The room was filled with the muffled voices of people talking into their headset microphones.

Jonathan went straight to the desk of one of the people talking like that and tapped him on the shoulder, giving a sign that he had to interrupt whatever he was doing. The man startled for a moment and when he saw it was Stratford he quickly made an end to his conversation.

"Yes Sir?"

"Can you ensure that all connections to and from Egmont are blocked. Every computer, telephone, radio or pigeon must be severed. I want that island completely isolated."

The man called up an application and cunningly typed in commands. He nodded to Stratford as a sign the shut down of the communication was completed.

"Well Pieter, I am curious whether you will live up to my expectations," Jonathan thought.

* * *

Chapter 15

Pieter stared at the dimmed display of the phone, trying to assimilate the past seconds into a meaningful unity. Nervously he left his desk, confused and not knowing what to do next. One thing was obvious: Jonathan wanted the information as soon as possible into the public. He went to his laptop and logged in. The mail program initiated. The symbol with the turning little balls kept him in tension.

_Connection Failed_.

Pieter took again his mobile phone. He wanted to reach someone for advice and dialled the number of John Freeman. The fast beeps added to his stress.

No Signal Detected

Pieter threw the phone on his bed and rubbed his tousled hairs. With his thumb and finger he massaged the bridge of his nose, making his glasses going up and down. "Shit, shit, shit," he repeated. "We need to get away from here, and fast."

He grabbed under his bed a watertight fluo-orange travel bag which he kept ready for unexpected circumstances. A lasting habit from when he was still working in the most unstable parts of the world where one had to be always prepared to be repatriated.

Pieter ran into the corridor and threw the door of Jane's room open.

"Jane, wake up. We must leave." He switched on the light and saw a scared Jane jumping up, holding the thin blanket against her breasts. Disturbed in her first sleep, and dizzy from just a bit too much wine, she looked angrily at Pieter. "Man, what are you doing? Are you out of your mind or what?"

He was short. "Just get up quickly. Put something on to swim and take your papers, wallet and a minimum of clothes with you."

Jane fell back on the pillows. _He lost his marbles_ she thought when she came slowly out of the bed and stepped drowsily into the bathroom. She concluded from Jackie's shrieking voice that he also had the nerve to wake up her sister. After an extended yawn she threw some cold water into her face in the idle hope to get rid of the pounding headache. She heard Pieter jumping from the stairs, two or three flights at the time, calling that they really had to hurry up.

When they met in the hall, Pieter informed them about what happened to Stratford.

"Oona ?" replied Jane in disbelief, "But she was the one who was so nice and helpful yesterday."

"Look, I don't understand it either. I have known her for years now. I would never have thought that she'd do something like this."

Pieter filled them also in about the documents that had been, thanks to Jonathan, discovered on the iPod.

"It is obvious that those files were not meant to be shared with the world. The man, who got shot, Votilio, wanted to do exactly that and got assassinated. Also that happened during the watch of Oona."

"But what is than so important?" asked Jane.

He sketched roughly what was the content of the hidden files. He had seen the detailed plans for Indian attacks on neighbouring countries. The population of India had in the meantime exceeded the three billion and the country literally was cracking under the pressure. They needed more space. On the other side the country had been continuously beaten by natural disasters, famine and epidemics. The new revolutionary, ultra-right guard that had seized power some years ago had rolled its muscle and threatened to invade the adjoining countries, both to east and west. As a nuclear power, the rhetoric was taken seriously by the international community. The intercepted iPod contained attack scenarios on Dubai, where the already present Indian population could seize power easily. But also of parallel attacks into Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam to seize the necessary _Lebensraum._ That China, after years of fierce economical competition, would not allow this without a powerful reaction was cause enough to turn this into an incident with global impact.

"The location of Diego Garcia is crucial for their plans, and from what I have been able to read they are being supported, secretly, by the US. That explains the high activity from the past months on the base. Just like when Diego Garcia played an important role in the cold war during the seventies, it is again a junction of future events. Ships and airplanes can operate their missions both to the Middle East and the South East. Exactly like during the gulf wars of the twentieth century."

He paused while he picked up the travel bags and made his way out.

"Jonathan wanted us to make this public. It is the only way to avoid a world conflict."

At a jog they ran via the in the meanwhile well known path to the lagoon. In other circumstances they would have admired the enchanted moonlit lagoon.

But now they only paid attention to Pieter's short instructions.

* * *

Chapter 16

Even in the middle of the night the water felt pleasantly warm. Pieter and Jane swam to the airplane wreck that they had visited earlier in more relaxed circumstances. Alternating they dragged a metal cable on which a heavy hook was assembled. After some short dives they had attached the cable to what they assumed was still the strongest and least overgrown construction: the point where the undercarriage was bolted to the fuselage. Pieter broke through the smooth surface and put up his thumbs, the sign that Jackie could start the winch. She pushed the big red button on the middle of the control panel and the cable tightened as a string in an effort to break away the wreck from its resting place.

A century of concrescence with the coral bottom was not planning to throw in the towel easily. Pieter had to use brute force with his crowbar before the two floats broke loose in a cloud of sand and coral. In the process he realised that he had violated about all of the marine protection acts in existence. The remaining bottom of the lagoon was flat so that slowly the plane was dragged like a captured whale to the jetty.

After some lengthy minutes the first parts came out of the water, from a safe distance watched and followed by Jane and Pieter. The water gushed out of the battered airframe.

Although Pieter had dived around the wreck numerous times, he was still surprised to see the plane's relative good structural condition. Regretfully he thought that he would never be able to investigate what was still hidden in there. But for now, he was planning to use the wreck for a more important goal.

With united forces they pulled the plane as close as possible to the wooden quay till it appeared about two meter above the sea level, taking care not to bump into the Grumman. With the help of the two girls he threw the protective canvas over the wreck. From the air everyone would be deceived and think that the Grumman was lying as usual next to the jetty. Only attentive pilots would miss the tail piece protruding in the middle of the lagoon and become suspicious.

Pieter counted on the fact that the rotation of pilots these days on Diego was so big, that the chances were slim. Especially when it was still dark at dawn.

Nervously Jackie and Jane boarded the _Port of Call_. While Jane untied the boat ropes, Pieter provided quick directions on how to pilot the yacht safely from the lagoon via the only channel that was deep enough for its draught. Under no circumstances they could now afford that the yacht ran aground.

Jackie already accelerated when Jane jumped from the stern back onto the pier.

Pieter sat on his knees on the wing, pumping frantically fuel into the large reserve tank. He thanked destiny that the crew at Diego Garcia had been as kind as to fill her up completely. But for the distance he had in mind he had to stuff all the fuel they could carry. Unless they wanted to land somewhere in the middle of the ocean. He cursed that the manual pump was dead slow and his arms hurt from quickly moving up and down the short handle.

Jackie had already disappeared out of sight when the tank was finally topped up and Pieter could replace the cap and screw it tightly. He stepped into the plane and, leaving the door open, plumped down next to Jane in the pilot's seat. He flipped some switches and pushed buttons. And without paying too much attention to the normally required pre-flight routine he started the engines. He let them warm up for a short while. Also here the mechanics at Diego had displayed the decency to overhaul, albeit hastily, the engines. The chances that an engine would let them down had now been reduced to the normal risk taking when flying such an old relic. Since he had once experienced a misfiring engine, and barely survived the crash, he was not exactly looking forward to go through it again.

The monotonous drone of the engines echoed into the nightly bay while Pieter piloted the plane through the channel and initiated an intercepting course towards Jackie. In the distance he saw the yacht's navigation lights and he steered the seaplane through the waves.

Pieter set out to sail in parallel with the _Port of Call_ and lit the large spotlight that was mounted in the wing. It threw a harsh, unromantic white light on the surface of the sea..

"Stay on this course and speed," he yelled through the headphones while he left his seat and crawled to the open door. Although the plane was going slowly, here on the open sea he had to shiver in the cold breeze and spurting water drops. The contrast with the warm water in the protected bay was huge and one long moment he felt sorry for himself.

Jackie had throttled to the maximum and the ship was ploughing through the choppy waves. She checked for the last time the automatic helm, put on a pair of flippers and jumped into the water to swim towards the approaching airplane.

After some strokes she looked out of the water to check her position _vis-a-vis_ the plane. Frightened she realized that she had miscalculated the distance and started to crawl desperately to get closer to the plane. She was twenty meter away when it passed. She could clearly see Pieter at the door, swaying a buoy on a rope like a sea-cowboy planning to catch a siren. But she was too far away.

Pieter bellowed in the plane's intercom that Jane had to make immediately a U-turn. She obeyed by promptly jerking at the controls which made the sluggish aircraft tilting over dangerously. Pieter had to grab the door handle and held his breath, prepared for the plane to hook with its wingtip in the water and flipping over. But the plane gently regained its balance and approached Jackie from the opposite direction.

"Make sure we will not miss her again or worse, keelhaul her. Can you see her? Approach her from the port side so I can throw the buoy. Now is a good time to practice your man-overboard manoeuvres," he shouted.

Biting her lip Jane took, haphazardly, a course which she hoped to be the right one. "Come on little sister, where are you?"

Suddenly she saw a vague white light and she cheered that Jackie had the common sense of grabbing a waterproof torch light before jumping into the water. She adjusted her course and slowed down as much as possible so that Pieter could hoist her on board. He grabbed Jackie by the shoulders of her life vest and pulled her in. She shook off her flippers and vest and wrapped herself in the blanket that Pieter handed her.

"Welcome aboard. Why is it that I always have to rescue you from these waters?"

He closed the door and got back into his seat. "Right. Now for the real work. In a couple of hours we should cruise over the southern islands of the Maldives and from there it is a cold trick to reach the civilized world."

The plane rolled and pitched heavily on the waves. Jane looked at Pieter's tense expression. It did not promise a lot of good. He muttered: "with all of the extra fuel she is way heavier than ever." It seemed an eternity for the plane to lift from the water and it felt like in slow motion when they flew for the last time over the atoll to start their course to the north.

"In the movies they tell you to fly as low as possible to circumvent the radar. As I don't know whether that is _fact or fiction,_ I am not going to take any risks. If something goes wrong, we will not fall from a height either. The chances that we will hit a power mast in this area is equally limited. And even if I try, it looks like I cannot get higher with this thing."

Despite the tense action of the past hours, Jane could not resist to laugh with Pieter's remarks. "Well, Pieter, that is just fine. Why don't you just fly low and slow. I am going to put on some dry clothes. It is not very comfortable to fly in a wet bikini."

She tried to close the remains of a curtain between the cockpit and the cabin, just in time to hear Pieter reply: "you don't hear me complaining."

She stuck her head through the big hole torn in the curtain and said: "no peeking, you dirty old man."

As his only answer he adjusted one of the large rear mirrors from the cockpit and looked straight in her eyes.

It was not that he did not have any interest in what was going on in the narrow cabin, but he stared concerned to the horizon where flashes of light had caught his attention.

He hissed between his teeth and for the first time he got an oppressive feeling. Maybe this time they really would get into trouble. Thunderstorms and airplanes, especially flying antiquities, are not a good combination.

The first drops hammered the window screen when Jane entered the cockpit again. Silently she looked at the now pitch dark horizon where continuously long bolts lit the threatening cumulus. Pieter was playing with a small switch.

"Those wipers are out of order. Actually I have never had to use them before."

He turned around: "Jackie, can you please find a seat with a working safety belt? It might become rather bumpy up here." In the subdued light of the cabin he could distinguish a slightly swollen vein on her forehead as she was looking outside.

Pieter had an uncomfortable feeling. A weird sentiment he had felt before. As if death or ill faith were physically present in the cockpit, standing behind his seat. In old etches artists would have depicted this as the Grim Reaper, shrouded in a wide cape showing his white skull and out of the wide sleeves the skeleton hands holding a big long scythe.

A cold shiver ran over his spine. "Don't be ridiculous," he manned himself. He sat straight and tight when the first gusts pulled the plane with a fierce power.

"Come on. I am ready," he said with a resolute voice.

* * *

Chapter 17

Nightshifts were not a problem for John Freeman. As long as he was left alone. But when one of the air-traffic controllers shook him awake at three in the morning, he became grumpy. The man stood ill at ease beside Jonathan's bed and said: "Mr. Freeman, you are requested in the tower."

John Freeman turned moaning on his left side and pushed his legs out of the small bed in the basement of the control tower.

"What is it this time?" he wondered. Lately things had been crazy with unexpected night flights and unannounced war games. He scratched his belly and put on a perfectly ironed shirt and trousers. He inspected himself into the tiny mirror that was glued above a cracked basin and thought: "mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the craziest of them all?"

The control room was blanketed by a soft red hue in which the crystal-sharp monitors clearly showed their information on atmospheric conditions, radar, temperature, planned flights, runway state and so on. Jonathan, legs wide apart, stood at the large window and observed the two fighter planes that taxied towards the beginning of the runway.

"Hi Jonathan, isn't it a bit too late or early to play with planes?" John greeted him. Stratford answered with a solemn look: "a bit of an annoying mission, I am afraid. We have intel that Pieter van Dyck is involved in stealing secret information from our base and is planning to sell this on the black market. He has escaped with the ship of those two Australian women. I have taken the liberty of getting the pilots-on-watch already in their planes. But as the officer in charge, also you need to give approval to launch."

"Pieter is a spy? Come on. I know that at the time he might have gotten himself into trouble for not exposing his sources and putting salt on some sensitive issues. But I always thought, and I am still convinced, he has high ethics. Why would he do such a thing in the first place?"

"Yet it is true. Believe me. I was as surprised as you are now. But I did get debriefed by Bramaud on all the evidence they collected against him. There is also a trail from Pieter to Votilio. The forensic examination showed that the man was shot by a weapon owned by Pieter according to the database. A weapon that we had given him when he arrived here for the first time."

John scribbled an initial on the device that was handed by the same air-traffic controller who had disturbed him in his sleep. "Ok, get them going," John said. Almost instantly the two jets jumped forward on their high landing gears, to rapidly accelerate and disappear seconds later in parallel flight.

Stratford took a headphone, flipped the microphone in front of his mouth and established communication with the pilots.

"Captain Stratford speaking. You need to search for a yacht, the _Port of Call_. It will not be so easy to locate, but I have all reasons to assume that it is on its way between Egmont and Mauritius. Your computers have received the probable coordinates. Contact the control tower when you are flying over Egmont and report back to me whether someone is home."

Without bothering for their confirmation, Stratford took off the headset and made a gesture that he wanted to speak to John privately. They stepped into the glass office reserved for John. He hardly ever used it, being too glad to be with his team.

"Well, that came as a surprise. What is going on?" asked John while he inserted two pads into the coffee-machine and closed the lid with a bang. Jonathan gave more details while the machine started to rattle.

The day that Pieter had arrived with Jane and Jackie, he, for unknown reasons at the time, inquired whether Votilio had carried an iPod. Jonathan thought the question a bit weird, but had not paid any attention to it. Hardly knowing what an iPod was. However, Pieter continued to nag about it until finally Jonathan had handed over the thing with the question to have a look at it and to check whether it contained some good songs. He had, unusually nervous, taken the device and connected to a computer and quickly concluded that the hard drive was empty except for some bad-taste music. Nothing else."

"As I have no clue about these things, it all sounded acceptable and logical. I did look on the computer screen together with Pieter, though. And I did see the songs. But that was all. Well, apparently it was _not_ all."

The coffee machine puffed some steam indicating that the two cups were brewed. John handed one to Jonathan. "Pure black Arabica, the way that I like it."

Jonathan continued his story. Pieter had asked to obtain the iPod. His argument had been that his on his old PC he would be able to research the device more thoroughly. Jonathan did not care even if this was not exactly following the procedures. Nobody would ever be interested in a dead person hundreds of miles from the civilized world. There was hardly interest in a dead man in that civilized world. However, during the debrief with Bramaud's team it had become clear that more was going on. In Votilio's quarters they had found documents and DVD's containing downloaded information from Diego's supercomputer. Specialists had analysed the log files from Votilio's portable computer and had come to the conclusion that sensitive information had been copied on a mobile device. A device like an iPod.

"I tried to reach Pieter last night. To bring him back to reason before he did stupid things. But his mobile was disconnected and the radio switched off."

John shook his head: "sorry, but I find this all very hard to believe."

Jonathan agreed: "I know it sounds as a cliché, but do we ever know each other for real?"

From a centrally placed speaker came, surprisingly clear, the voice of one of the pilots. "Sir we are approaching Egmont. Descending to fifty feet and checking for people."

John and Jonathan continued to watch the black speaker box on which they heard the background noises from the two cockpits till the pilot came in again.

"Everything looks deserted. In the lagoon I can see the seaplane moored to the pier and also the Zodiac in the boathouse. No signs of a sailing yacht."

Jonathan bent over: "that's what I expected. Continue your search for the yacht."

The two Super Hornets banked sharply to the left, direction Mauritius. Their computers had received additional coordinates from signs picked up by heat sensitive satellites that could come from the yacht's engine. The hornets had similar heat sensitive equipment on board, so it should be a piece of cake to pick up that source, even from miles away.

The weather en route started to change quickly. However, the pilots were not overwhelmed by any anxiety when looking at the lightning in the distance. The only side effect of the heavy rain and high waves would be a more elaborate and difficult positive visual identification of their target. The gusts of wind gave slight vibrations in the war planes built like a truck.

At low airspeed, but still over two hundred kilometres per hour, they screeched over the position where the ship should be. They decided to split left and right and circle to search the area.

One hour after they had departed from Diego, the pilot confirmed that they had identified the target.

"Hornet one. We have a positive identification of _The Port of Call_. No mistake possible, quite recognisable without the mast. What are our orders?"

Jonathan did not wink.

"Destroy the ship."

Without questioning, the pilot loaded one of the Stinger rockets, approached the boat and fired. The projectile detached itself from the left wing with a venomous hissing.

Seconds later _The Port of Call_ was lifted out of the water to be shattered in a bright explosion. The Hornets did not even bother to check the fast sinking ship that quickly disappeared between floating debris of polyester and wood.

* * *

Chapter 18

The chilly morning already carried the sounds of an awakening Manhattan, when Ian stepped through the landscaped gardens of the company towards the attending limo. With a friendly nod he handed his briefcase and sat next to Iveta who was absently gazing outside. As opposed to Ian, an early rise was not her cup of tea. Ian had already been working out in the gym of the building while she was waking up under a cold shower.

Ian pushed a button and the separation panel disappeared behind the front seats.

"Good morning Alice, how are you doing?"

"It promises to be a wonderful day, Ian. So I am happy."

"Indeed, nothing beats a beautiful morning. How are the kids doing at school?"

"Very well, thanks. Liz, the youngest has just started to take music lessons. She wants to play the violin. I hope we will not regret it." She waited for a moment when she stopped to turn onto the Palisades Turnpike and then continued: "and where does the travelling take you today, Ian?"

"Oh Alice, you know. Too far to be of any good for an old man like me."

She smiled in the mirror and closed the panel again. She knew that when Ian was with Iveta, the pleasantries soon ran out. But they were not less sincere. One of her strengths, besides being an expert driver, was discretion and sensing when it was required. Like it was now.

Ian reclined in the soft grey leather seat and pulled out his phone to call home. His wife, Elizabeth, was an early riser.

"Good morning honey. Did you already go for your run?"

Elizabeth had started to run last year and had ever since followed a Spartan training programme to prepare herself for the New York marathon.

He listened attentively, now and then agreeing, nodding along.

"Well, I am on my way to the airport again. Some crisis with an assignment in Chilli has come up. I'll be away for a while, I am afraid."

Elizabeth had become accustomed that her husband was regularly away for weeks. From the beginning of their marriage she knew it was better not to ask questions or be upset about it. And in the end she was happy with the situation.

"I love you too. I'll call you when I arrive."

He ended the conversation and closed his eyes. He needed to mentally walk again through all the points that were coming his ways the next hours and days.

Momentarily they would arrive at the airport for an immediate departure. The corporate jet exceeded the luxury of a first class commercial flight by far and he was going to need the coming twelve hours to work. Then they would arrive at their destination. He was keen to see the progress that was made since his last visit, more than a year ago.

The limo turned into the private section of Newark airport. The _homeland security officer_ recognized the car, and more so Alice, and let them pass without any interruption. He knew that the kind of people sitting in those cars did not like checks and controls. And although it went against all instructions, everyone turned a blind eye towards this kind of VIP treatment.

Swiftly Alice parked the car alongside the waiting jet and jumped out of the car to help her passengers. She pulled the luggage out and returned Ian's briefcase.

He hugged her surprisingly tight and said: "Alice, take good care of yourself," upon which he resolutely climbed the stairs where the flight attendant was greeting him. A bit bashful she did not know what to answer. With the help of the ground personnel she loaded the luggage, signed the paperwork on behalf of Ian and drove away. She stopped before the steel gate and saw in her rear mirror that the jet was already taxiing to the runway while the staircase was being retracted and the door closed.

"They are really in a hurry to leave," Alice thought.

On board Ian stuck his head in the cockpit and shook hands with the pilot and co-pilot. He exchanged some pleasant talk and retreated into the cabin. The stewardess had brewed fresh coffee and served it to Iveta in elegant white china.

"Welcome aboard Ian." She also addressed him with his first name. Something he insisted on to be done by everyone who was working for his company.

"Good morning Cindy. I am glad to see you again. Where were you yesterday? I did miss you on my flight from London."

Cindy smiled warmly: "I wanted absolutely to be on this flight. Frankly, I am more attracted by Chilli than the grey and foggy London."

She uncorked a bottle of champagne _._ For a man of his wealth and power, he did not have many idiosyncrasies. Actually very few, but he was formal on this champagne. She filled dexterously the long thin glass and brought it, balancing on a small tray, to Ian. Then she disappeared into the small galley to prepare breakfast for her guests.

The shrill whistling of the speeding turbines made Ian look up from one of the newspapers that Cindy had arranged in front of him. He liked the almost extinct smell of printed paper and loved the traces of black ink on his fingers after he had read it. Iveta thought to notice a somewhat melancholic look in his eyes when the plane ascended in a wide arc over the Hudson to reach its corridor to the south.

Already after a couple of minutes he asked Iveta to set up a conference call with Vladimir.

"Good morning Vladimir. Where are you now?"

The image on the display jumped from time to time and the audio had difficulty to synchronize with the video.

"Ian, I am somewhere over the Congolese Jungle. Another two hours and I should arrive. Did you receive my latest report? I have sent it a couple of hours ago from the plane and I am never sure whether the transmission succeeded or not."

"Yes, I have studied it this morning. That is why I am calling you as I have some questions.

"Sure, _shoot_ ," replied the other side.

"I hope Raghavani does not get cold feet?"

"It is not so much that she has second thoughts. It is more that she developed concerns with India playing such a prominent, well, dirty role."

"We need to ensure that she understands there are no good or bad sides in this. We focus on two things. The destruction of the current infrastructure and the elimination of local conflicts. I am sure she will be happy that the Afghan invasion and homicides in the Kashmir area will be contained. And that she will have unlimited access to the fresh water reserves in the Himalaya. She will be the hero. There are over three billion Indians she has to take care of. So we offer her the expansion that she needs. With the Middle East she will have access to oil, something they never had before. With the large Indian population in the Middle East, annexing it to India also has a deeper meaning: the liberation of the thousands of workers there. The US is supporting because it solves their Middle East problem and Israel once and for all. The Chinese in return take control over Korea, Taiwan and Malaysia all the way to Australia."

"She was also concerned that the Russians would not stop with the northern provinces of China and that they would expand further to the south."

"Unlikely, the Russians are smart. They know how much trouble these small areas can be. History has taught them that. No, they are more than happy with North China. There is a lot of oil and other precious stuff under the ice. And the ice means fresh water. And as long as the Russians can go on holiday with their girl friends to Hurghada or Sharm el Sheikh, they will not make any unexpected moves. However, we need to ensure that India keeps her promise not to invade the fertile Gobi desert. I am sure the Chinese would not appreciate that."

"And Europe?"

"Europe finally has a strong president after a series of grey mice. He is finally determined to unite the countries and act as one in this conflict. The stakes are Africa. Since long the colonial playing field of the European countries. China has already tried in the past to penetrate that continent and in this conflict they will attack the main cities. Europe will protect and retaliate, swarming all over Africa and re-establishing their colonial regimes. Of course, it will not be called colonial."

"Talking about colonies. What about South America? I know you had some concerns, Ian."

"We will have to play the same game here. The US will attack South America and Europe, lead by Spain, Portugal and the UK, will come to the rescue."

"That bothers me, it will be for the first time that Europe and the US are not allies."

"The South American conflict will be over soon, it is least important one. The main goal is to have space to host the millions now living in Australia. That will be annexed in the greater China."

"Are you sure they will leave?"

"Good point. They certainly don't want to be part of China. Even because they fear that the flow of Chinese call-girls will stop. In any case, the military conflict is calculated to be fierce but short. A flare to destroy as much infrastructure as possible. Then there will be a period to rebuild. People will have other things on their mind than their minor local issues. Rebuilding will only stand a chance when they collaborate all together, even with their former enemies. To put it commonly: _they will have bigger fish to fry_. Basic team philosophy: under pressure the team performs faster and better."

"Up to a brave new world," Vladimir answered.

"Not at all, my dear Huxley. A _brave new world_ was a reaction against modern technology and its potential abuse to take away your privacy. Some control, even if it is social control or self control, is the price you need to pay for your freedom. There is a huge difference between freedom and privacy. Freedom is the possibility to think independently without someone else beating you, ridiculing you or murdering your family. Privacy is the ability to do this wherever you want to. However, I am pleased that you know your classics."

"Thanks. So I will throw in another one. It looks like Abacus becomes more and more a _Foundation._ "

"Even the Foundation is a poor comparison. We are only predicting fifty years, we only cover the earth, there is no second Abacus and as far as I know there is no Mule throwing mud in the water. But on the other hand, we could serve to repopulate the world when needed."

"Fine," Vladimir ended, "that was my briefing. We will see each other in a couple of hours."

"Indeed, we will," Ian ended the conversation and switched off the call. He reclined in the seat and opened his laptop.

Well into the flight the aircraft headed towards the east. The captain entered the cabin and whispered to Ian that the new course had been programmed. He had switched off the transponder the moment they had left the Miami airspace. At this moment alerts would be triggered with the traffic controllers as the aircraft suddenly disappeared from their radar screens.

Ian nodded, stretched and went to Cindy to ask whether she wanted to prepare lunch. He returned to Iveta. It was time to tell her.

"Chilli will not be our destination today, I am afraid. We are heading for mid Africa. The western part of Somalia, to be precise."

* * *

Chapter 19

The rain continued to bucket down as Abdul Massina was pulling expectantly his nets into his old fishing boat. The catch of last night was poor, but he should have known that. It was an old fishing lore that during rainfall the fish kept quiet at the bottom of the sea and did not plan to be caught. Moreover, he was not even allowed to fish in the protective waters. But how else did he have to feed his children? It was easy for the authorities with their big bellies to talk about marine reserves, but they did not care about a poor fisherman's struggle to survive.

A roaring thunder rolled over the water. Curiously he looked up as the thunder increased in power. For a moment he thought that a patrol boat of the coast guard had spotted him. But he knew that in this weather they rather stayed in their dry shed. His curiosity changed into amazement when he saw the water plane coming straight into his direction. It could not have been flying higher than a few meters above the surface so Abdul decided not to take any chances. He jumped overboard and dived as deep as possible.

When he reappeared he knew he had reacted correctly. His boat was capsized and a large flame flashed out of the small wheel house. He looked into the direction of the plane and saw and heard it landing on the water. He cursed loudly and shook his fist. Not only did he see his meagre catch regaining their freedom into the deep, but he also saw his only possession sinking rapidly. This would mean an hour's swim to the harbour. Finding a good lawyer and if that did not work, finding a new job.

Pieter had tried to pull up the moment he got sight of the small boat in the middle of his approach. But the unwieldy plane had hardly reacted and they hit groaningly the mast and pilothouse of the barge with their fuselage. He had to apply all of this experience to keep the plane straight and land on the rough sea, more or less in a controlled manner.

Jane had turned deadly pale. But Pieter could not be sure whether the hint of green was caused by the near crash or by the hours of flying through the heavy weather.

The plane advanced till the coast where Pieter made it strand on the beach. A bit further they could distinguish strings of lights indicating that they were close to one of the many resorts one could find in this area.

"I am happy to announce that we have safely arrived on one of the most southern atolls of the Maldives. It was not planned but I ran out of fuel. That nose wind blew my calculations," explained Pieter. I know here a few people who will be able to help us. And between all of the tourists we will not stand out."

Jane looked critically at Pieter. "In that case you should get a thorough shave," she said. His black-rimmed eyes and his beard would make every immigration officer decide to keep him in custody for possible drug abuse. Also her sister did not look exactly fresh. She refused to think how she herself would look like. But if the sight would be as bad as the smell, dramatic actions had to be taken.

They abandoned the plane and stepped through the shifting sand, each with some luggage over their shoulder. They climbed over a low fence and made their way stealthily between the villas of the resort. Pieter seemed to know the way and stopped at a small gate. The decorated door creaked open and they entered a small walled garden, dominated by a private pool and lush vegetation. He followed the subtly lit path to the main building and knocked discretely on the glass door.

Discretion did not yield any result. Pieter did not hesitate and bounced hard, shouting: "hi Alex, this is Pieter. Open up the door!"

Vague noises came from the other side and then the door was answered. A compact burly man tried to stick his balding round head through the door but was roughly pushed back in the room. That room was a complete chaos. Empty bottles rolled over the floor, rattan food baskets covered the table, their content dripping on the ground. Clothes were randomly thrown over seats and chairs. The stale stench of alcohol and cigars made Pieter gasp for breath. This place had hosted one heck of a party last night.

Alex scratched this crotch.

"Are you nuts man? Disturbing me at this hour _and_ on my only day off?" he protested against the invasion. Pieter switched on the light which brought a painful grimace on Alex' face: "switch that off, man. I have a terrible headache. And a hang-over."

"Alex, I am not joking. I need your computer. This is an emergency. And for heaven's sake, put on some clothes. This is not a pretty sight."

Alex shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the bed where female contours could be distinguished in the semidarkness. "She did not have an issue with that. Furthermore you don't have anything that I haven't. But all right. The computer is upstairs. I need to go to the bathroom. I have to vomit."

He turned around and got sight of Jane and Jackie. "Well well, Pieter is not alone. Thank God for that. Welcome fair ladies."

Jane and Jackie tried to look past the naked man who obviously was not hampered by any sense of timidity.

He smiled warmly and invited them to come in. His years of flirtatious experience with single female tourists on the exotic island made old-fashioned charming his second nature. His hangover had disappeared immediately.

"Oh dear, oh dear. And I thought that I looked like a wreck. I'd better not inquire what you all have been doing." He pointed at Pieter: "did that bad man not behave well?"

He disappeared in the bathroom and returned dressed in shorts and a tight T-shirt reading _This is Not a Beer Belly. This is the Fuel Tank of a Love Machine._

He jolted the woman in the bed awake, grinned to Jane and Jackie and followed Pieter who had already powered the computer and connected Votilio's iPod. Halfway the wooden stairs Alex shouted: "nothing that beats a plunge in the swimming pool to recover. And now Pieter, what have you been up to this time?"

Pieter studied attentively the documents on the iPod while Alex was looking over his shoulder. Pieter briefed Alex as concisely as possible. He only answered with a whistle escaping from the gap between his two front teeth.

"For the moment you are safe here. As long as they are foolish enough to believe that you are on your way to Mauritius. However, at dawn the tourist traffic will start and in Diego they will soon figure it out where you really are. Your plane cannot disappear like that and people will talk about it. At least I will alert my friends in the control tower that they have to act stupid when there are questions from Freeman. A stroke of luck that the air traffic controller and Freeman are not the best of friends. _Me know nothing master John_."

Indeed Pieter recalled an incident a couple of months ago when John Freeman had diverted _cum manu militari_ all traffic to the island because one of the landing strips had been damaged after a crash landing of a bomber. All civilian traffic was put on hold for the few military jets. And that had not gone down very well with the local managers of the hotels and airport.

"So, my friend, what are you going to do next?" Alex asked.

"Making sure this is _breaking news_ on all international and national channels."

He logged into his webmail account, grumbled at Alex that the internet connection was so slow and scrolled through his contact database, clicking names. Most of his contacts worked as freelancers since the economic circumstances had made them redundant. But some of them were still working with the big news agencies such as Associated Press, Reuters, Xinhua, Kyodo or Trust of India. When he had collected a list of about twenty-five names he started to attach a selection of the files from the iPod.

When he finished, it slowly started to dawn and the resort came to life. The outdoor reception checked out a couple of early leavers while one of the butlers pulled the luggage on shrieking wheels over the winding garden path. The first room maids entered, in colourful attire, balancing a basket with fresh linens on the head. The gardeners opened the sprinklers to ensure that the guests would enjoy the scent of fresh plants and flowers during their breakfast or their jog through the lush gardens towards the beach.

Pieter and Alex looked up as they heard laughing squawks and splashing beneath them. Alex was the first to hastily reach the balcony to see how Jane and Jackie had dived into the pool, together with his nightly guest.

Alex pulled Pieter a bit closer and sighed conspiratorially: "that's a piece of work, hey, that Brigitte?"

Pieter looked at the blonde busty woman in a far too tiny bikini so that little was left to the imagination.

Without expecting a reply, Alex shouted: "wait, I am coming. Don't go anywhere!" Whereupon he descended the stairs, taking off his T-shirt. A big plunge and consequent screams of the girls indicated that he had succeeded in his plan.

Pieter sat back behind the computer and tried to compose a punchy summary that would grab his overworked former colleagues' attention. In telegram style he outlined the content of the selected attachments.

Attached you will find a number of secret documents that elaborate on planned attacks from India and China on their neighbouring countries. The authenticity of these documents (pictures, maps, movement of troops, plans of attack) has been verified and were obtained directly from the naval base Diego Garcia. Someone who tried to smuggle out these files has already been assassinated. This must be made public as soon as possible to avoid a worldwide catastrophe. India must be stopped and the international community needs to react with sanctions. If you still lived under the impression that a new world war could not happen, than we were all wrong. It is up to you to stop this plan. Bring it in the news!

"Probably not the highest form of florid prose, but they will have to do with it." Pieter pushed the send button and stared at the screen. The small hourglass turned teasingly a couple of times before the text _Message Sent_ set him free.

Jonathan Stratford noticed the mail appearing in his mail reader.

"Well done, Pieter. You do not disappoint me."

And he picked up the phone.

* * *

Chapter 20

The jet rocked as it descended through the warm pockets of air. Iveta removed her blindfold and pushed up the shutter from the oval window. Below she saw a vast reddish brown surface and on the horizon a series of low mountain tops. She could not discern many details. A haze of dust and heat blurred the view.

Alice greeted with a smile. "We are almost there, Miss Iveta. Would you care for refreshments?"

Iveta was envious to see how Alice had not suffered at all from the long flight and looked young and radiant as ever. A bit grumpier than really meant she snapped: "how long still?"

Alice's immunity for unpleasant passengers worked, so she kept on smiling: "the captain just told me: another half hour. We have already started our descent and are passing some choppy air. It will depend a bit on the air traffic control. It's quite busy today; thankfully we have the highest clearance."

_Busy_ on an African airport? That was something Iveta really wanted to experience.

As the pilot had to make some sharp turns during the approach, the rocking of the plane became worse and was interjected with uncomfortable hard bounces. Iveta moved up to sit next to the sleeping Ian and gently woke him up. He had been working the whole trip and only dozed off the last two hours.

"We are about to land," she whispered, "it is a bit bumpy and you know that I don't like that very much." She had grasped his hand and pinched it, not always softy, in synch with the turbulence until they finally flared over the landing strip, touched down and rolled to one of the reserved parking spots.

Immediately the heat of the tarmac filled the cabin when Alice opened the door of the jet and pushed down the small stairs. Standing in the doorway Ian already had switched on his mobile. Apparently the warmth did not bother him at all. He listened to his messages, often not even till the end. When he had finished he pushed one of the speed dials.

"Hi Jonathan. I just arrived. Is everything under control?"

Patiently he listened to Jonathan's account. "Good job, Jonathan. I will contact him in two hours."

Iveta felt groggy after the long flight. But that feeling disappeared swiftly as she could inhale the fresh air. Even if that _fresh_ air was almost forty-two degrees Celsius. Astonished she looked around. She had not expected a hyper-modern airport, bustling with life like Kennedy or Frankfurt. A continuous row of carts were loading and unloading goods and luggage from jets and cargo planes. In the distance she saw the shimmering landing lights of at least five planes lining up from the sky. Shuttle busses filled with freshly arrived visitors drove towards the main building. She could only guess the hustle inside that building because she and Ian, as usual, enjoyed the comfort of a special treatment. They mounted into a four wheel drive that was waiting for them and instantly rushed off.

As they passed the gate, the young man in the passenger's seat turned around. "Welcome Mister Summerton and Miss Iveta. Welcome in _Luuq_." He pronounced the world melodiously stretched. "I trust that you have had a good journey. I know it has already been a long trip, but we'll be at our final destination in less than an hour."

He held out his hand to Iveta. "It is good to meet you in person after all this time via e-mail and phone. My name is Cabdikarum Sucro. Just call me Karum. My roots are Italian. Well, my great grandfather married a Somali. As you know I work for Ian on the Abacus development programme." He laughed, "at least that is what we call it."

"Can someone tell me where _Luuq_ is exactly located?" Her effort to mimic the melodious tone failed but brought a smile on the face of Karum.

"It was a small forgotten village in a strange horseshoe shaped curve of the Webi Jubba river. About fifty kilometres south of the place where the three countries meet: Kenya, Somalia and Ethiopia. More or less, because even today nobody knows where those countries really meet. And we are now heading towards the south west of Luuq."

He pointed at the river where the brown water flowed slowly. "There you can still see the old Luuq. The clay cabins and huts have all been abandoned in the meantime. Most of the people work near the airport and have replaced their dwellings for modern housing. Isn't it hard to imagine that a year ago this airport actually was not more than an earthen airstrip called the Luuq Ganana Airstrip? One moment..."

Eagerly he produced a tablet and handed it to Iveta. "Look, these are the satellite images."

She enlarged the images and could clearly distinguish the huts built almost randomly within the river protected area. The river served as a natural fence, protecting the population from unwanted lions or wandering elephant herds.

"Nice, but these must be very old. The airport is nowhere to be seen."

"Euh ... it is live."

Ian picked up on the hint.

"Let is be clear that what Maps is showing you is not always the reality. But often what one wants you to believe," Ian added. "Years ago everyone thought it was wonderful to look at his house on Google maps and to see which car was on the driveway. Until people started to realize that also burglars used it as their favourite preparation tool. Not only to break into one house, but to organise complete campaigns in a region, including the best escape routes to the closest highway. Especially the day that Maps went real time in their satellite application, it was the favourite tool to check whether someone was at home or not. Later it was used to conduct attacks again headquarters of multinationals, nodes of utility or communication companies. Certainly if they were a part of the country's _critical infrastructure_. It did not take long till those places had to be masked on the charts. Did you ever notice that when you type in the address of a multinational you often get an image on the satellite map that is not really fitting the picture? In the early days it was done quite roughly, as if someone had carelessly whitened it out. Later the camouflage technique became more sophisticated. Old images were seamlessly inserted in new maps. Of course at a certain price after Google had won the privacy lawsuits. Privacy has a price. Don't be mistaken, up till today thousands of people have nothing else to do than to comb satellite maps millimetre by millimetre in search of something: a lost airplane, a ship, a house or a bank with a safe."

It went quiet in the car driving at a steady hundred and forty kilometre per hour over the newly surfaced three lane highway. Iveta saw left and right the abundant green of banana-trees, bread trees and palms. The central reserve was neatly trimmed with blossoming red flowers. In the distance she could see some children playing in front of small white houses. The housing became denser, indicating that they were approaching a kind of a centre or more densely populated area.

The driver said something to Karum who turned to Ian and Iveta. "We are almost there. Here are the key cards to your rooms. I will take care of the luggage."

The engine of the car changed into a soft humming. Karum explained: "from this point on it is not allowed to use a combustion engine. That is why we switched to the electricity that we generated during our trip over here."

The road became more crowded and the vegetation along the side opened up, dispersed with white houses. The car took an exit and entered a straight boulevard towards what seemed to be the centre. Iveta looked around but could not see the expected mix of shops, pharmacies or restaurants.

They drove up to the lobby of a large, yet only five stories high, hotel. Around some busses, excited passengers were eagerly looking for their luggage. Karum gallantly opened the door for Iveta and when she stood up next to him she guessed he was over two meter tall. A big contrast with her one meter sixty.

She pushed her sunglasses up in her hair and stepped with Ian and Karum into the spacious lobby where rows of loud people tried to check in. She knew that Ian was not going to be pleased to see this display of bad organisation and already pitied the poor manager not ensuring enough manpower to cope with the sudden flux of guests. The hotel reminded her of a hollow cylinder, with in the middle a small tropical garden from where the lifts and stairs started. The currently overwhelmed reception was situated to the right of the main entrance. Further into the hotel there were restaurants and bars. All of the rooms came out on the round balconies from where you could have a bird's view on the ground floor.

The driver carried their luggage inside and Iveta automatically grabbed her purse. Ian put his hand on her arm saying: "a tip won't be needed here."

Karum pointed them into the direction of the lifts. "Your rooms are on the highest floor, the fifth floor. Rooms five hundred one and five hundred two. I suggest that we meet again here in let's say two hours? I have made reservations for dinner."

Ian and Iveta joined the queue that had formed in front of the elevators. Apparently only two of the lifts functioned. They heard grousing in different languages. Just like themselves these people had travelled long, but by far not in the same circumstances. A Spanish speaking woman tried to soothe her crying baby while her husband tried to keep control of their hyper-active toddler. An elderly Japanese couple looked at the scene disapprovingly. Finally one of the doors opened and a group of Dutch men entered singing some strange carnival song. "At least some people have fun," Iveta thought. While they patiently waited till it was their turn.

When on the fourth floor the last people stepped out of the elevator, Iveta sighed relieved. "Nice development project. I like the environment. Quite different from drilling a well or build a community school. I never realised it was this big."

The doors opened and he walked towards his room. Upon entering he said: "welcome to my Utopia."

* * *

Chapter 21

Pensively Pieter tapped with his fingers on the desk. His mail was sent. A gulf of fatigue battered his body that was about to switch off now that he ran out of adrenaline. Stiffly he stepped to the balcony just in time to see Alex crawling out of the pool, his butt crack showing in his hanging swimming trunks. He smiled when he saw Jane's shocked facial expression. Alex, obviously unaware of his unrequested performance, looked up to Pieter and swayed with his phone.

"Good news. I persuaded the manager of the resort that you can use the villa next door. You can rest there. It also might be a bit cleaner than my place here."

Pieter straightened his painful shoulders. He felt shattered. The loud crack in his shoulder made Alex shrink: "wow, that does not promise a lot of good if I can hear it till here."

"A hot shower will work miracles," apologized Pieter, "and then catching up some sleep."

He went downstairs and followed Alex to take some quick bites from the breakfast that had been brought in. Actually he was too tired to eat and it just didn't taste. Jane gave him a questioning look.

"The message has been sent successfully, now we can only wait. So first I am going to take a hot shower and then nap a couple of hours. The old box I am living in is about to switch off. We'll see each other for lunch."

Jane stood up from the table. "It sounds like a good idea. I'll go with you."

But the plan had not worked out. Pieter had just nested himself under the starched clean sheets when his phone rang. Assuming it was one of the journalists he had contacted, he picked up the phone with a painful gesture: "Hello?"

"Hi Pieter. This is Ian Summerton. How are you doing?"

Immediately Pieter was wide awake.

It was rather seldom that Ian identified himself on the phone. He assumed automatically that if he called someone they knew it was him.

"Ian? What an, euh, pleasant surprise. Yes everything is fine. Depends how you define fine."

"You are groaning as if you just have run a marathon."

"It feels like someone ran a marathon over me."

Ian, as usual, did not waste time.

"I have just seen your mail. You have been able to attract the right amount of attention."

Pieter was surprised that his message was already in the hands of Ian, who was not even in the addressee list. Of course he knew that Ian would be, faster than anyone else, made aware of what was globally going on. But that his message would even get on Ian's radar screen was amazing.

"What do you think of it?" Pieter inquired cautiously.

"I think that we are at the edge of a serious worldwide escalation between the superpowers. The past hundred years have been relatively stable, yet the number of small local conflicts has risen exponentially over the past years. Compare it with the earth's crust under which the forces of nature are building up. When the pressure is too massive it all erupts in one big outburst. It is not a matter _if_ but _when_. That is what will happen now with our society."

"But it is the intention that such an outburst is avoided by bringing these documents and plans into the open," defended Pieter, not quite understanding Ian's logic.

"Oh indeed," continued Ian "that _should_ be the purpose. I am sending a plane to pick you up. Together with the Hutton sisters. It will be there in about six hours. Make sure you are ready. The coming days the world will not be a safe place. And Pieter ... I am looking forward to see you again. It has been too long."

* * *

Ian disconnected and looked at Karum who had joined him in the suite.

"I suggest that you pick them up. The pilots are already aware and the jet is waiting for you, all fuelled up. In your personal team room you will find the full briefing. You can study it on the plane."

Karum knew that when Ian started with "I suggest" that it was his way of giving an order. Friendly but without the possibility to argue.

"Sorry that your plans change for tonight, but this takes priority. I'll debrief you tomorrow."

Understandingly Karum nodded and left Ian's room while the latter was already dialling a new number on his mobile. Karum had an enormous respect for Ian's ability to deal with a huge work volume at an inhumanly pace. He closed the door silently behind him, just in time to hear Ian say: "hello Jonathan."

* * *

Still dazed Pieter kept on wondering how Ian could already have been aware of his mail. Especially since none of the addressees had so far reacted. Yes, Ian's network was vast and global, but to know the whereabouts of Pieter and the Huttons that was asking for an explanation.

He stepped out of bed but decided to leave Jane asleep in the other room. He went back to the villa of Alex where Jackie was resting in a teak deckchair, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun."

She greeted him, surprised: "Hi Pieter, already awake?" And in a more concerned voice: "Is Jane still alive?"

"It was literally a powernap," answered Pieter. "Jane is asleep in her room. I received a phone call from our mutual acquaintance: Ian Summerton. What a coincidence... It looks like my mail is already travelling around the world, but the ones who should react are not. Anyway, the good news is that we will be picked up in about six hours to take us to the civilized world. He also said something that it was going to be too dangerous here."

Jackie looked a bit sour. "Dangerous, here? Actually I really like this place. I am not interested in that civilized world. I just sent some messages to our parents so they know where we are and should not be worried. What can happen on this idyllic island?"

"Did you also contact Ian Summerton?"

"No, why should I? I don't know him that well."

"I am just puzzled how on earth he could find out so fast where we are. In the end we did escape from Diego Garcia. And if he knows, than why don't the people from the base?"

Jackie put her left arm under her head and wriggled comfortably on the bench. "Noooo idea," she yawned, not planning to give this question another thought.

Pieter moved to the open, covered living room parallel to the swimming pool. The long white curtains swayed gently in the morning's breeze. He took the remote control of the TV-set and sat down in the bamboo couch filled with white pillows.

He checked CNN but did not see the expected red band with _Breaking News_. Also BBC World was only transmitting a rerun of yesterday's highlights. Pieter zapped to a local station featuring a programme with local music. The typical mixture of oriental and Creole sounds bounced against the garden walls of the _private villa_.

Ostentatiously Jackie covered her ears with her hands.

* * *

Karum drove at a high speed to the airport. He encountered more of the white tour busses, proof that more planes had landed with passengers. By tonight the population would have reached three thousand seven hundred twenty eight. Unless one of the bio-engineers delivered her second child this afternoon. Than there would be one more. Karum held a close account of the statistics of the project. Later on it would no longer be necessary to measure everything continuously, but for now it was important to have a good count of the available skill sets.

He took the last exit to the airport and stopped at exactly the same place where he had parked the car to pick up Ian and Iveta. The airplane was ready to leave immediately so he sped, two steps at a time, on the short stairs. Although the cabin was a modern _wide body_ , he had to double-fold not to hit his head all the time.

Karum took a seat in one of the wide couches and stretched his long legs. The pilot entered after he had completed his outside checks. He greeted Karum who had already extended the transparent screen from the small table in front of him in order to read Ian's briefing documents. From experience all of Ian's employees knew that after a long flight he would overwhelm his team with questions, suggestions, remarks. Enough to keep an army busy for a couple of weeks.

The stewardess asked him to fasten his safety belt as the first part of the flight could be a bit rough, but the rest should be fine once they reached their cruising altitude. Karum nodded friendly and although he did not net know everyone to address them with a personal touch, he adapted the same attitude as his manager and mentor, Ian.

Karum had lifted his eyebrows when he read their final destination. He visualized the pictures of the people he should bring back with him and memorized their names. Some of them he already knew. He looked around in the cabin providing space for a dozen people. He counted the people he had to pick up: eleven. He was not surprised that also this detail matched. Ian hated to waste time and space. The fact that the corporate jet was run like an airline did only confirm the efficiency of the firm.

The whisky-cola served by the stewardess vibrated slightly as the plane gained quickly speed. Without even looking outside, he concentrated on his reading materials.

* * *

Pieter thumbed lamely through the pink pages of the Financial Times. The weekly paper issue of the journal was months old and could not raise his interest. Nor divert his brain from speculating on the effect of his mail.

"Where is Alex?" he finally asked Jackie.

"He went with Brigitte to her place," she answered. "They said that they would be back in five. But that was about an hour ago. Why am I not surprised?"

Pieter checked his watch. It was past eleven and the sound of pots and pans from the nearby kitchen reminded him that he had become hungry.

"You want to join me for lunch?" he asked invitingly.

"What do you mean? Never heard of a butler bringing room service?" was Jackie's lazy answer.

"Vaguely, you spoilt good-for-nothing," he teased her. "But maybe it is not a bad idea to stretch the legs and exercise your social skills. Go meet new people."

"That is definitely a bad idea. I am quite comfortable here with my solitary skills. Why don't you go and take my sister with you. Speaking of the devil, there she is," Jackie answered while pointing at the door.

Pieter followed her finger and saw Jane coming through the garden in a white linen dress. She had pinned up her hair but some disobedient tresses fell naughtily alongside her cheeks.

"That one looks a lot better than a few hours ago when we arrived. She looks a lot better than I have ever noticed before," went through his mind.

"Were you talking about me?" Jane asked.

Jackie answered quickly: "Pieter just told me that he did not want yours truly to join you for lunch as he wants to have a _tête-à-tête_ with you. So I sacrifice myself, again, to eat here all alone."

"That sounds like a splendid idea. One of the more sound suggestions that have come out of his mouth," she answered ironically. "I am indeed hungry and the nap has done me lot's of good. I do believe, Pieter; that you could use another couple of hours. You still look like..."

"I get it, I get it," Pieter defended himself, "I feel fitter than ever. And I will have plenty of time to sleep in the plane. In six hours we are being picked up from this place."

Jane had the same initial reaction as her sister: "but I don't want to go. I'd love to stay here for a couple of weeks. Who has come up with that bad idea?"

"Come let's go and eat," he interrupted, "I'll explain over lunch."

He addressed Jackie while they made their way out: "in case you change your mind, you know where we are. If you see Alex, tell hem to join us also."

She put up her hand slowly and waved them away, her eyes closed.

Silently they strolled to the restaurant at the beach where already some of the guests had gathered around the buffet. Some of them wondered who the newcomers were. It was a small resort, so everyone knew everyone after a couple of days. Newcomers were always taxed by the _anciens_.

The restaurant was built like a large hut and rested on pillars in the clear blue sea. The floor was interrupted by glass enabling a view on the many fish swimming under the construction. A wooden bridge connected the restaurant with the beach.

Pieter and Jane sat down at a table for four. A waiter arrived immediately with ice water and a bottle of cooled white wine. He greeted them jovially inquiring when they had arrived as he had not seen them before.

"Early this morning, with our private plane," Pieter explained.

"That is very nice," the waiter answered with a heightened expectation for a big tip.

He talked to Jane while filling up her glass.

"On honeymoon?" They did not wear wedding rings, but it was one of his standard opening sentences.

"Yes, indeed. For me this already my fourth marriage. But my husband is still a virgin, it is his first time."

"That is very nice," the waiter kept on smiling. "Idiotic rich tourists," he thought.

He left when Vivian, the manager of the resort, approached Pieter and Jane.

"Well what a doubtful surprise Pieter. It's been, lucky enough, a long time. Are you here to make trouble again with your buddy Alex?"

Much more friendly she introduced herself to Jane: "Vivian Liebeck, manager of the resort."

"Jane Hutton, sailor around the world in trouble. How do you know each other?"

"My dear Jane," Vivian answered, "if you live for years in this corner of the world, even if that corner is a vast piece of water, all of the inhabitants hook together. It's worse than a remote _ex-pat community_. I have known Pieter from the first weeks that he arrived on Egmont and was restoring the old colonial mansion. Together with my husband and children I was doing research. Egmont was one of the favourite harbours for wandering travellers till Pieter arrived."

"But he really went astray the moment that Alex arrived," she said with a stern look. "They were, well they are like two brothers-in-arms. Especially Alex took good care of him. He was his primarily drunk flying instructor who turned smuggling with an official army plane into an art. And in the meantime he tried to improve Pieter's piloting skills. Apparently still not yielding any success. I heard that a big old seaplane is littering my beach. And of course each lesson had to be celebrated so I received complaints from the other guests the moment there was again a loud party going on. Please realize that most visitors here pay a small fortune to find peace and quiet."

Pieter defended himself: "Vivian, that happened _once_ and that was two years ago. We needed to celebrate that one crash landing which we miraculously survived. And the ones complaining were some sulky old spinsters who were upset because we had not invited them. So please don't exaggerate."

"Old spinsters? You mean over thirty?" Vivian continued. She was not planning to give up the argument like that.

As a true _deus ex machina_ the waiter returned with an iced dish towering with fresh seafood and put it swiftly between Jane and Pieter.

Vivian decided to drop the topic after all.

"Well, enjoy your lunch." She nodded kindly to Jane: "I am sure we'll bump into each other later." She summoned the cook to inspect the buffet that he was building up.

"So what is going to happen now, Pieter?" Jane asked.

She attempted clumsily to _undress_ one of the shrimp upon which Pieter took over and gave here the nicely peeled part. Enjoying she ate the succulent shrimp and expectantly opened her hand for the next one.

"Believe it or not but this morning I got a call from Ian Summerton, you know, the person we talked about yesterday or the day before yesterday. The days are really blurring together. Good acquaintance of your father, so I assume his little rescue has more to do with the daughters of his influential friend than with me. One way or another he had figured out where we are, read my mail to the journalists and knew about the documents stolen from Diego. So he is sending an airplane to take us back to civilization."

Gloomily Jane remarked: "I am really trying to understand the events of the past days. But I have to admit that it is all a bit above my head."

"Sure I can understand that. But the most important is that we can leave here as soon as possible. History shows that it never did anyone any good to smuggle military secrets out of a country. I want to get as fast and as far away from Diego and the whole damned base."

"And what about Jonathan?"

Pieter pouted his lips. "I cannot imagine that Oona has anything to do with this. I have known her for so long now. We had such good times with her and the old team. On Diego and at my place. But, I heard what I heard. It was obvious what happened at the other side of the line."

Pieter skinned the other shrimps for her so she only had to eat the flesh with her fork. Apologizing as a little girl she said: "I hate it to niggle with these things. Mostly I end up with mashed sticky stuff on my finger in stead of a tasteful shrimp."

"Actually, I am really glad that we have met you, Pieter," she abruptly added.

"Ahum, yes, it has been quite an adventure the past days. I can imagine that both of you cannot wait to be back home in Australia. Or continue your trip if you still find someone who is prepared to give you a ship."

"That's what I mean. Despite the adventure and the whole situation, and the fact that I still feel like collapsing from fatigue, well ... there is something else."

"Over-production of adrenaline?"

She shook her head: "I didn't tell you that when I am back in Australia I will get married in a couple of months. This whole trip was for me the last chance to enjoy life as a bachelor before taking that commitment.'

"No, you did not tell me that. Congratulations. Isn't that wonderful? I really appreciate the plan to first travel around the world for a couple of weeks before you settle. Good thinking. I would do the same."

"Probably, yes. But I don't think it is the idea that I start doubting."

"Isn't that a bit classical?"

"That's also what my mother said."

"Geez, thanks!"

"You know what I mean."

She looked over the vast ocean. "It is because of you that I feel like this, Pieter."

At that moment Jackie came running in a fluttering _sarong_ , Pieter's cell-phone in her hand. Out of breath she arrived at their table, pulled over a chair and sat down.

"I took the liberty of answering your phone and the good news is that the plane that is underway to pick us up will be here one hour earlier than expected. I still cannot believe that we are finally getting lucky after all. Mmmm ... those look like great shrimp. I sure wouldn't mind to get some of them. I hope you don't mind that I join you for a bite, do you? Of course not, there isn't anything secret in what you have to tell each other anyway, haha!."

She lifted her head in the air and called the waiter.

"Hey, can you bring me also one of these delicious dishes? And another bottle of chilled white wine? We have something to celebrate!"

She looked at the silent Pieter and Jane.

"What?"

* * *

Chapter 22

Oona knocked at Jonathan's open door. She could see he was fiddling around with paperwork.

"Do you know more about what is said about Pieter? Rumours are buzzing about his escape with classified information?"

"I am afraid that is correct."

"And it is said that a couple of Hornets have blown him out of the water?"

Jonathan looked seriously at Oona.

"Do you really believe that Pieter is that retarded? I thought you knew him better than that. Not for a moment did I ever believe that he was so easy to catch. I just didn't want to take any chances."

"So according to you he is still on his island? Apparently his plane was still there and his Zodiac simply does not have the radius of action. Even with extra tanks they would end up in the middle of the ocean."

"No, he is quite gone. And concerning the plane: have a close look at these pictures that were taken during the search flights."

Oona studied carefully some of the aerial photographs that were taken that morning. She shook her head: "I see the plane under the camouflage net. Pieter always covered his plane when a storm was coming. I even helped him a couple of times to fasten the plane and throw the canvas over the wings."

"That's what he wants us to believe, yes."

He ticked with his finger on the tail sticking out of the canvas.

"That, Oona, is _not_ the tailpiece of a Grumman. It is the tail of that Japanese wreck that has been lying in the lagoon for ever. Compare these two images. This one has been taken a couple of weeks ago. Find the twelve differences."

She took the pictures out of his hand and whistled silently.

"He has fooled us there. But that means that he can be a very long way by now."

"That is true. Fortunately we still have here and there some contacts. For instance, we know that early this morning a freaked-out fisherman has filed a complaint that he has literally been rammed out of the water by some lunatic in an airplane. All points into the direction of Pieter's notorious flying style."

Jonathan went to one of the walls of his office and pushed a red pin on a small island south of the Maldives. "Here he has landed and that is where you and I will go to collect him."

"But, what ensures us that he will not have disappeared by then?"

"Nothing. All logic says indeed that he will try to leave on the first commercial flight. So, that is why I have instructed their control tower to ground all civilian air traffic because of a fake military exercise. I don't think that I am making myself popular in that area."

"But why should I join?"

"I have the impression that you are one of the few people he still trusts. I assume that he believes that I am part of the plot to catch him and throw him in jail."

"That could well be," answered Oona, not really convinced.

"Fine, I suggest that we leave right away. I cannot close that runway for ever. They don't have that much respect for me."

The fast turboprop commuter plane needed a lot less time than Pieter's Grumman to bridge the distance between Diego and the island of the Maldives. In the early afternoon the plane landed on the rough runway.

Without ceremony they both disembarked and the plane turned to leave immediately. Oona did not show her surprise to Jontathan. He probably was on top of things and another plane was going to take them back. Together with the two Huttons.

She followed Jonathan into the small airport building at the bottom of the control tower. Before she entered she saw a sleek private jet landing. From the inside she heard the plane slowly taxiing till the entrance. Curiously to find out who the celebs were she peeked through the rather dirty windows of the otherwise clean airport. The slender black man who came out of the plane was not someone she recognised. His length could indicate it was some successful basketball player. She expected that in his wake one or two lingerie-models would appear. But only the flight attendant and the two pilots followed him. The last pilot turned a key and the steps disappeared in the door which closed hydraulically.

A bit disappointed she looked for Jonathan in the arrival hall. To her surprise the passenger from the jet stepped without hesitation to Jonathan and shook cordially his hand. Both with a smile on their face. Hesitating Oona kept a bit aside, but Jonathan beckoned her to come closer.

"Karum, may I introduce you to Oona De la Fayette? Oona is the Doctor in tropical medicine whom Ian had identified."

Karum shook her hand long and explicitly: "it is my honour to meet you, Doctor. My name is Cabdikarum Succri. I do not pretend to be acquainted with your work, but I do know that your name is mentioned with the highest esteem by those who can pretend."

Uneasily Oona answered, still shaking Karum's hand. "Okay, thank you very much. And who are you exactly, Mister Succri?"

"I am the development aid project leader. We are keen on having someone like you joining the team."

Oona was about to tell him that there must be some misunderstanding. She was unaware of a team, did not know Ian and furthermore, her contract with the army was not to expire for another couple of years.

"You must be Karum," it suddenly sounded from the staircase that led to the control tower. A small, stout and balding man in a spotless white pilot uniform came down. He pressed his captains' hat under his arm.

"And you are captain Alex De Jonghe, I presume?"

"Indeed. And this is my first officer for today, captain Brigitte Lafontaine. I suggest that we prepare the aircraft so we can leave as soon as possible and stay on schedule. We'll see you on board."

Alex and Brigitte went to the two arriving pilots and stewardess, exchanged documents, wished each other a good flight and an enjoyable stay. The relieved crew was clearly keen to start their holiday at the resort.

Karum greeted some other people who appeared in the hall. He made notes on his tablet. A flight attendant had entered and served some bottles of chilled water. The hall was clean but not luxurious and the few fans hanging from the ceiling could not expel the tropical heat.

Oona counted five people surrounding Karum. He checked again his watch. She and Jonathan stood a bit aside of the rest. Oona did not understand why Jonathan was lingering around and was not going out of the building to find Pieter.

Finally she pulled his aside and said: "Jonathan, shouldn't we be searching for Pieter? Isn't that the reason why we are here?"

Jonathan looked at the entrance of the building and pointed at the three people who had just come in and were looking around investigating.

"Yes, that is the reason. But we will not go out and search for him. There, _he is already coming our way_."

* * *

Chapter 23

Pieter gazed in disbelief to Oona and Jonathan. He shook his head as if he wanted to chase away the ghosts in his brain.

Karum was faster than Jonathan to meet Pieter and the Huttons. Just like the others he greeted them cordially. Then he addressed the group in the hall.

"Can I have your attention please? Welcome everyone. Our small party is complete and our plane is ready to go. So, I suggest that we start boarding, the quicker we board, the faster we arrive at our destination. Don't worry about your luggage, which will be stowed on board."

He turned to Jonathan and Oona. "Your personal belongings will come later since you are now travelling ultra light." Without further ado Karum led the way, the small group following meekly. Pieter looked amazed. Apparently he was the only one not knowing where they were going to. He asked Karum: "but, before we are even getting on board, shouldn't you tell us where we are going to?"

Karum nodded: "indeed, Pieter. I realize that you and the misses Hutton and Oona don't yet know where this trip is taking us. Well, we are going to Africa where Ian Summerton is expecting you."

Pieter was not happy with the answer: "Karum, Africa is a pretty big place to wait for us. Can you be more precise?"

"But of course, we are going to Luuq," he answered and disappeared in the door of the airplane.

Pieter walked up to Jonathan and said "you old bastard."

With some reservation he hugged Oona. Both of them confused how it all added up. Also Jane and Jackie looked suspiciously to Oona who smiled to them wondering what she had done wrong.

"There is _free seating_ on this bus," Alex shouted from the cockpit as he saw Pieter clambering on board. He loved the amazed look in Pieter's eyes. A look that became even stupider when Brigitte turned towards him from within the co-pilot seat and enthusiastically waved at him.

Alex steered the plane to the beginning of the runway and throttled to full power with breaks closed. When he released the breaks, the jet jumped forward and departed steeply from the short runway. It reached quickly its cruising altitude so that everyone could relax. Not very reassured Pieter observed Alex who apparently handled the jet easily and gallantly based on the smooth ride.

Jonathan was sitting next to Pieter and whispered: "well, old boy, I hope we did not scare you too much?"

"I thought you were dead. Shot by Oona."

"Nice piece of acting. If I may say so myself."

"Why?"

"We needed you to bring out those documents. Without the additional pressure you would never have reacted so inventively. Admit it, without that phone call; you would have concluded that nothing was urgent. Certainly not with your attitude towards military secrets. And you would be sipping pina collada on your little island next to Jane and Jackie. Am I right?"

Pieter did not answer. Maybe he was right. "And what about Oona?"

"She was not even in the neighbourhood when you heard those shots. Blanks fired from Bramaud's gun. I had to, euh, deceive Oona a little bit to get her this far without too many questions. It had to appear logical that she would join me to collect you on this island."

"But how did you know we had landed here? The yacht was the perfect decoy. There is no way that you could have known where we flew to."

Jonathan admitted: "that was indeed a great escape. Not that I had expected anything less from you. I had to initiate the pursuit of the yacht and destroy it because everyone on the base had to believe that the information was sunk together with the ship and its crew. And of course I had some idea where you would be going. It was a matter of waiting for the right signs. Like the poor fisherman whom you almost killed. By the way, the trick with the Japanese floatplane was quite ingenious I must admit."

Jonathan continued and pointed to the cockpit. "Alex works for Ian Summerton. He had been informed that you were on your way. Apparently you caught him at a bad time during more pleasant occupations with miss Lafontaine."

Karun interrupted politely their conversation and introduced them to the family of four that had taken the seats behind them. "This is Professor Hans Liebeck and his family. Spouse Vivian and their two children Gregory and Lise. Professor Liebeck and his wife are both specialised in the study of fauna and flora in barren and extreme places. And of course you know Vivian as the manager of the resort. Lisa is walking into the footsteps of her parents and has already gained some fame with her research into species living in underwater geysers."

Gregory, who was notably younger, received a friendly rubbing over his wild curls. "This young lad has to urgently finish his school and than he can start as professional surfer."

Dr. Liebeck snickered: "I don't think do."

Karum turned to a Japanese girl who had so far kept herself in the background. "And this is Yuriko Yamamoto. Miss Yamamoto lectures western and eastern philosophy. On the resort she did not only lead the eastern therapies. She had retreated to this place to finish her lifelong work on the comparison between the world's largest philosophies. Let's say where Bertrant Russell stops, Miss Yamamoto starts.

Pieter recalled that he had seen Yuriko while teaching Tai Chi to stressed managers.

Karum spoke to everyone in the cabin.

"Only a few of you know the purpose and final destination of our trip. So, let me provide you some background information. Even if I may not always be able to go into the details."

He switched on the LCD screen where a three dimensional simulation of a growing development started to flow. The image zoomed in a highly detailed satellite image from a region in Africa.

"Sir Ian Summerton has set up in collaboration with the Somali, Kenyan and Ethiopian governments an ambitious development programme. The location is at the point where the three countries meet. A, let's say, forgotten piece of land that has little economic, military nor agricultural value. The purpose is to build a prototyped society. Ecological, sustainable and self-supporting. Note that it is not a city. History has seen many prototypes of so called ideal cities, from Heliopolis to Brasilia. This society is based on new, yet already existing, technologies that for all kind of reasons, mostly economical, do not get foot on the ground in the rest of the world. The purpose of the project is purely scientifically, to learn from the practical implementations, so that in a couple of years this society can be duplicated in other parts of Africa and the world."

Vivian interrupted Karum. "Why Africa? Why not someplace else? I think it would be better to do this somewhere in Europe. There is a higher need there than in a god forgotten place in Africa."

"Good question. The answer is simple: space. Africa by now is the only continent where there still is an abundance of open space. Setting this up in Europe would immediately strand in endless discussions about subsidies, where the project would be situated, whether the entire member states are equally represented etcetera. Australia and New Zeeland are bursting the past decades because of the large influx of the US, Europe and Asia. China and India have known the past years the highest increase in their population. Africa is no longer the lost continent. It has become the newly found continent. And it is open for all what is new and modern so that it is taking a quantum leap compared with the other parts of the world. And that space also ensures the necessary discretion to set up a project as vast as this one."

On the screen the simulated development and growth of buildings, parks, rivers, lakes, squares, industrial and agricultural areas were shown. Pieter noticed how the different elements grew and entangled naturally into each other. Forests hosted industries. Living spaces were seamlessly integrated in agricultural areas.

"The total surface of the project is slightly more than two thousand five hundred square kilometre. About the size of Luxemburg. At this moment three thousand five hundred people are present, the next days that will increase to five thousand."

Karum had to constrain himself not to call out the exact numbers, but he rightly assumed that for his present audience it did not really matter.

"And who is financing all of this?" Pieter asked.

"Most of the money comes from sheer optimisation of the current development funds and the world bank. By eliminating the hundreds of obscure, mostly fraudulent, projects and streamlining the management of the large structural organisations, we have achieved a status of self-funding."

He paused and continued: "Have you ever seen the movie _Independence Day_? A classic movie from nineteen ninety six starring Will Smith? At a given moment the president, upon entering a secret lab where captured aliens are being investigated, asks how all of this is funded. The answer is "Mister president, do you really believe a hammer costs two hundred dollars?" The director or scriptwriters were closer to the reality than they ever imagined. And of course there are several financial streams. Not to mention Sir Summerton's personal investments."

Pieter thought: "so the old man finally got his way."

Karum continued: "the people who are there now are a collection of technical experts, medical specialists, engineers, teachers, philosophers, journalists, social workers, farmers, biologists and so on. They are coming from all corners of the world, represent all ages, races and religions."

He paused but there were no additional questions.

"And this is where you all come into the picture. Each of you has a specific skill set that is required and that is why we have approached you to participate in this project."

Pieter reacted cynically: "well, nobody did _approach_ me. I'd rather call it a civilized abduction. And I think that applies to more people than just me in this plane."

Karum corrected him: "that is not entirely correct, Pieter. You have received an invitation from Ian. But you did not immediately or directly participate in the project. No, you have first spent a couple of years on the Egmont islands to ensure that the non fishing treaty was executed throughout the Chagos archipelago. That enabled the Doctors Liebeck to quietly do their work, without annoying disturbances. So, your task was crucial. I'll come back to that in a moment."

He looked at Jackie and Jane. "What concerns you, as you know sir Summerton has close ties with your father. The day that you both departed, also your parents left to join the team as biologists. In fact, we are bringing you back together. I must say that we have been very lucky to have Pieter or you could have died on the ocean. We knew you were in the good hands of Pieter. Although I must admit there was some fear about his flying skills. Let's say that at a given moment it was challenging to convince your father that everything was going to be alright."

Karum stopped to drink from his whiskey-coke. At that moment Alex entered the cabin. "I hope you are all comfortable?"

He took the remote control of the LCD screen and switched from Karum's presentation to CNN. Pieter sat straight in his seat, just like all the others. The red bar with _Breaking News_ underlined the excited anchorman's commentary.

Alex pushed up the volume so that everyone could clearly understand what he was saying:

"From a trustworthy source we have been informed about the detailed invasion plans from India and China into their neighbouring countries. Those plans have been detected on both nations' super computers by corporal Votilio, a US navy computer administrator. The corporal tried to release the details but has been murdered on his home base, Diego Garcia. So far it is unclear who is behind this murder, but navy officials suspect that Chinese Special Forces were able to intercept the corporal when attempted to sail away."

A recent picture of Votilio in his military uniform was shown. The voice of the newsreader continued while archived footage of Diego Garcia was shown.

"Using the Abacus super computer located on the highly secured naval base Diego Garcia, Votilio, while doing some routine research, stumbled over Chinese and Indian military files. He was able to retrieve documents and simulations that in detail outline the expansion plans of both nations. It is not clear whether both nuclear powers are working together in what could be the world's largest threat. Despite the death of Votilio, the documents have been received by news agencies around the world."

"The Indian and Chinese authorities have already formally protested that these documents have been brought into the open without consulting them first on the authenticity. Navel experts are formal after their investigations that these files are real. The world is already reacting severely to this threat against peace. In most countries the ambassadors of India and China have been summoned for explanations. Cities such as Dubai saw riots with the Indian population. The Middle East as a whole is very sharp in their condemnation. The presidents of the United States and Europe have urged to stay calm and have begun a thorough investigation into the matter."

Alex turned off the screen and went back into the cockpit with two meal trays which he had taken over from the stewardess. "On the other channels there is very similar news. It is indeed better that we are flying to a somewhat quieter part on this planet."

Pieter took a more comfortable posture in his puffy leather seat. They were a huge difference with the worn chairs from his loyal Grumman. He was not too alarmed by what he had heard and seen on TV. The world knew about the plans, so it would be quite impossible for the Indian and Chinese government to even continue with whatever they were thinking. The community was on their back, so they would be more careful in the future. There would be an international investigation, some governmental high-rankers were going to be fired and the world, it kept on turning. He wondered if or when he would ever return to Egmont and see his house. He hoped that by then the pigs had not taken over his dwelling.

He reclined the seat to its maximum, took an extra pillow and put it against the wall of the cabin.

Through his eye lashes he noticed that the plane was taking a westerly course, following the sunset. He sensed that Jane was looking at him. And before he dozed off, he thought that he could see the same look in her eyes as in the restaurant just before Jackie had interrupted them. But that could also be wishful thinking.

While he was polishing the two snow white outboard engines until he could mirror his stubby face, both engines fell off their support into the clear water of the lagoon.

He was shaken awake from the landing and reclined his seat, sitting straight in the wide couch. His beard and hair itched terribly. His left leg was tingling painfully. He looked in the cabin and saw everyone happily chatting with each other. Obviously he was the only one who had slept the whole distance and was still tired.

Pieter scratched himself without caring about the others but the itchy feeling only got worse.

* * *

Chapter 24

The small group had dived in cars, ready to take them away from the airport. Pieter had shared a car with Jonathan and Oona. Because Pieter had slept the whole flight, now and then shaken by a fellow passenger in the hope to stop the snoring, he had not been able to question them further about the past events.

"So the whole shooting was one big pantomime. Did you know, Oona, that he was using you for this? So that I would believe that some super secret conspiracy was going on?"

Oona answered poisonously: "no, I was not aware of that part of the story. But I am sure that Jonathan can explain it very clearly." She turned towards him and looked at him challengingly.

Jonathan was a bit embarrassed. "It was the only way to ensure that Pieter would act with the necessary _sense of urgency_ and escape to the outside world. I had to put all of this _en scene_ to be as believable as possible, especially to the two of you. I had clear orders to bring both of you on this plane. So I though at that moment that using Oona was the best way forward as I knew it was going to surprise you. And vice versa, to you Oona I had to bring in Pieter as the bad guy. I was sure that you would never believe just like that that Pieter was being a spy or a thief. You would do everything to find it out yourself."

"So what is your relationship with Ian Summerton exactly?" Pieter asked, "you said that you had to bring us in."

Oona added: "apparently he needs some tropical virologist. You don't hear me complain. He bought off my army contract. No more patrols."

"I have known Ian for some years now since he was conducting work with his organisation for the navy in the Far East. He had to advise on the future use of old, mostly forgotten camps. The navy was going through some serious cycles of rationalisation and cost cutting. It was his recommendation not to close Diego but to repurpose it to install a supercomputer. It was remote and safe. In times of peace, the computer would be part of a larger grid or cloud and be used to help all kinds of human research. You might have heard of the abacus network. In times of conflict, the computer would be able to deal with all military transactions of the US army. Don't forget that Diego is more secure than a fortress. An attack from the air, mainland or sea would be detected hours up front because of the distance, and would trigger the right defence. Ian needed someone to keep an eye on what was happening with that computer. Especially to know what kind of simulations they were running on it."

Pieter shook his head. He still could not make the picture complete.

"But if this is an American computer than why did the Indians and the Chinese used it to run simulated attacks?"

Jonathan replied: "if the computer had a human body, I would have called it 007. Yes, it was also one hell of a robotic spy. We are not in conflict, but that computer could hack into other systems better than any human hacker or cracker in the world. It infiltrated in other systems and stored the information. That information was fed into our own simulation programs. Which basically made us each time one step ahead of the threat."

Pieter decided to talk as soon as possible with Ian. He could feel that his former investigation had been right on track. But also that still a lot of the pieces of the puzzle had to find their proper place before he was going to grasp it all.

He wanted to ask some additional questions but the car already ramped up the hotel's driveway.

In the lobby he had been scouting around to see Jane and Jackie. He had just seen how their parents took their daughters in the arms. And how a tanned muscled man had firmly embraced and kissed Jane.

Pieter hesitated to make his way to them, but finally decided to follow Karum to the elevator and leave the family Hutton alone. It seemed that Jane was not making any effort to look for him and Jackie was too busy to tell her adventures to her father.

He should not make himself any illusions.

Everyone would go their own way.

All would return to normal.

* * *

Chapter 25

The hug that Ian gave to Pieter was true and intimate. It had been years since they saw each other for the first and last time.

"You look good, Pieter. The isolated life has done you well."

"And you look tired, Ian. Are you actually even sleeping these days?"

Ian smiled. "Currently I have no patience for that. But... welcome to the Abacus project. As you can see, it is progressing nicely."

"I never doubted that. Even five years ago I knew you were going to push through. Although at that time it wasn't exactly clear to me what the scope would be of your so-called development aid. And quite frankly, I still have issues understanding it all. But I am sure that you will be happy to enlighten me."

* * *

Just like Pieter, Ian remembered vividly their first encounter. At that time Pieter had arranged for an interview with Ian who had presented his plans for a dramatic change in the way development aid was organised, during a guest lecture at Trinity College in Cambridge. The low attendance had not disappointed Ian, on the contrary. The few professors who sat in the room had showed up because Ian's company was their major financial supporter. But this lecture was necessary to ensure their proper support when they were called for advice.

It was a freezing December evening when Pieter carefully inched over the iced worn cobblestones after the lecture, back to the hotel on the Cam, looking forward to take a warm bath. In front of him, Ian tried to keep his balance when he turned into Mill Lane and clumsily swayed his arms when his slippery Italian shoes lost their grip on a mean icy spot. Pieter had just in time been able to grab his arm and kept him up.

"Shouldn't we stay at home in front of the fireplace in stead of risking our lives?" both had laughed from beneath their thick woollen caps, holding each other's arms as if they were ready to waltz.

Ian had suggested: "around the corner there is one of the oldest pubs in Cambridge, _The Mill_ , next to the university's Alma. If we make it, we'll be halfway to the hotel. And they have an open fire. With some warming and strengthening liquor we can than continue the rest of our journey without breaking arms or legs. And if we break them, the booze will ensure we don't feel it."

They entered the warm and cosy pub. Apart from some local regulars it was empty. The holiday period had started and most of the students had left Cambridge days ago to celebrate Christmas with their families.

"Two _Glühwein_ ," shouted Ian. They stooped under the low arched ceiling towards one of the small rooms where, in all privacy, they could continue their encounter.

"So, you want to throw up a complete city away from all obstacles to experiment with and apply new technologies and techniques?" Pieter asked.

"Please, not a city. That is so pre twenty-first century. Cities are a form of community life that is _passé._ They date from the times that it was required to live close together for social, economical and communication purposes. I prefer to talk about a society or civilization. Ever since time immemorial, people fantasize about a better world. They called it Eden, Atlantis, Utopia, Cockaigne, Schlaraffenland, Shangri-La or Oleanna. And especially in the twentieth century people started to experiment, I must say with no or very limited success. They tried to re-invent cities by building them more controlled, more uniform, symmetrical. Depending on your function you were given a determined amount of square meters. Those city planners failed and the result are the gloomy sky rises in the suburbs where drugs, insecurity, noise and dirt are thriving. Other eccentrics tried to escape in smaller dwellings based on renewable energy, ecological agriculture, houses built from waste, an island floating on pet-bottles and so on. Anecdotal experiments that are too small to extrapolate the results into a production environment. In contrast, my idea starts from the creation of a civilisation. And that should not be so weird or over-ambitious. There are sufficient historical cases where complete civilisations were picked up and rebuilt somewhere else. For instance in South America. I am convinced that a civilisation, the kind of civilisation, is determining the form of cohabitation and not vice versa. Take a look at the Mayas. Their buildings were targeted towards astronomy. Cohabitation is the result of religious, economic and environmental factors. I don't like too much the word civilisation. When I look around me I think we are not that civil in this world. But that is another discussion."

"The question is which form of coexistence you take as your starting point, as your base," Pieter argued, "will it be socialism, communism, capitalism? And how long will it take before your coexistence has turned into all the rest what we have today."

"Old fashioned thinking again, Pieter. Of course we will need to make choices, I admit that. And it is utopian to believe that one form is the one and only ideal. This kind of thinking has killed many noteworthy initiatives. You need to stop believing that one superhuman architect is capable of orchestrating what is right and wrong. That is why many of our cities are not worth living in these days. What one needs to try is to eliminate those disturbing factors that ruin a civilisation or culture. In the end that should not even be so difficult. However, today all has become too complex. Let me rephrase that more precisely. Today many things have become unnecessary complex. We need to go back to the basics. Many things are complex because they need to be complex. Our science for example. As our in depth knowledge grows, the detail becomes so vast that an individual is no longer capable of knowing everything. Not even from his or her field of expertise. Knowledge has become a collective, supported by technology. Artificial Intelligence, databases, neuro-networks are all helping us to expand our knowledge."

He took a long draught from his glass and let the warm wine circulate in his mouth.

"You know, Pieter, the majority of the people just want to be left alone and live their lives unhampered here on earth without too much hassle. It would already help a lot if we could avoid those individuals who are continuously trying to grasp the power. And yes I am referring to the traditional political and religious leaders and their dogmas. They basically are after everyone's freedom."

"You want a simple atheistic environment?"

"No, there should, actually must be place for religion or spiritual life. However, the competition between religions must disappear. The multi religious acceptance is key and the emphasis should lie on the equality of religions. The true enemy is the urge to convert. Faith is for many people something to hold onto. A way to give meaning to their own small being as part of something larger. The hope that this world and this life is not the end, but the beginning or a step between. Personally, I also believe there is something bigger, that there is more. But that this is manifested in the form of a godlike figure or entity, that is doubtful."

"So what is it that you don't doubt?"

"The laws of our cosmos. In so far we even know them. Gravity. Conservation of energy. Time. Our lives are energy. When we die that energy is released and is assimilated by the environment. The earth, the air, the universe. With this reasoning you can explain why there are, proven and documented, people who suddenly remember a previous life. And have you noticed that mostly it is linked to a violent death? Someone who remembers that in a previous life he has been a Roman soldier killed on the battlefield with a spear through his chest. Ghosts are mostly based on murder. Except for Caspar of course. It is energy that is suddenly released and hence cannot be absorbed by the surrounding elements. Because it is a shock, the energy stays as a cluster and can therefore hold a memory. That is what I believe. But it is not my religion. And I am not going to convert you, not even after a second glass of wine."

Ian turned and showed the bartender the empty glass and put up two fingers. "Two of the same please."

"We cannot understand the everything nor the nothing. Just like our ancestors who did not understand the world around them, we don't understand everything. And as I said, the world is spinning faster and faster, and that is a good thing. But many are still substituting their inability to follow what is happening around them with a strict religion. What they don't understand or can follow, makes them scared. And a religion gives them that mental shelter. In itself a very noble causes, unfortunately one that has been abused throughout the centuries. And that in all religions. It was yet another form of getting power over people."

"So Ian believes he is one of the last humanists?" Pieter asked.

"Or maybe one of the first ones again?" Ian answered. He took a sip from the fresh glass that the waiter had brought.

"Humanism never had a break-through as a philosophy and it is inherently not a religion. But even as a belief very few people have followed it. It was not the intention of the first humanists like Erasmus or Morus to come up with a new religion. On the contrary, most of them were very Catholic civil servants. Take someone like Thomas More. He has even become a Catholic saint because he resisted Henry the Eighth. No, it was their purpose to be critical against the dogmas and imposed ideas regardless what kind. They were intellectuals. Intellectuals in search of the truth, trying to understand and unravel the world around them. They never stopped doubting and always kept on asking _why_? The most important question to achieve progress: why? As a small boy I dismantled my toys in no time because I was curious to find out how it functioned inside. And when my parents refused to buy me toys anymore, I started to open up my sister's dolls. I have been punished a lot."

For a moment Ian got stuck in his own thoughts and stared at the old wooden table. Pieter wondered how many generations of students had rolled underneath it in drunken stupor after a _punting_ party on the river.

"Humanism is an ideology that has never been organised nor conceptualized to convince the others that they are wrong and the humanists are right. It is so encompassing and it contains so many elements, that it is the all and nothing. The difference between an ideology and a religion is that the first guides your interaction with your environment and your fellow people. A religion should do the same, but unfortunately that is seldom the case. Only if the religion is also the ideology, than there is again a match. The neat businessman who goes to church each Sunday with his family has no issue to treat himself on a lap-dance during one of his trips abroad. Listen to my words, but don't look at my deeds. And that is the origin of the fanaticism in religion. The religion has become the goal. Not the ideology that once was the foundation of that religion. Because that is the thing. Each religion wants to be guidance for people, showing them a path to follow. Fanatics are rarely interested in the ideology behind the religion that guides their interaction with other people. It is about their self proclaimed pact that they have with an idol, a God. Their energy is wasted on convincing others, whether these others want it or not. Convert or die. Giving a purpose to their life is not something to think about. Those are the ones only focused on an afterlife because they have nothing to fill their real life.

"So you are an atheist? Isn't that what most people blame humanism. That they don't accept a god?"

"A God. We don't even know the etymology of that most used word in our modern world. So I really wonder how I have to answer your question. What is a God and its definition? If it is a simple image like an Allah, a Brahma, a Jesus, a Buddha or a holy trinity. No, I don't believe in that. That would be nice, a real idol game. Do I believe that there is something that we, humans of today, cannot, yet, understand... yes, most certainly. Today I am not calling it anything; maybe tomorrow I call it God. But I am convinced that we are all part of something bigger, interconnected with each other and with our environment. And we need to live in harmony with it. That is it in a nutshell. I want to initiate a harmonic society of which the driving forces work towards balance, progressive change and not decay."

"And how do you envisage building up that perfect harmonic world? And where? We are already steaming full power towards an enormous over-population and available land space becomes a real issue. Woodstock with its peace and harmony is a bit outdated."

"There are two aspects. Where are you going to build it and with whom do you fill it? And than of course the question what after that, what is the final purpose. Let me start with the where. No doubt, Africa. With the exception of the minor historical, but generally accepted, blip that you and I originate from the first humanoids that developed around central Africa, that continent has been step motherly treated. There is not one Western nor Eastern company that even considers moving its production to Angola or Gambia. Although that might change the next years when companies in their search for cheaper labour arrive to the conclusion that China and Indonesia have also become too expensive now that salaries become global. But that is another matter. No, Africa is still untouched as untouched can be in this world. Because of the far reaching desertification of the continent there is little interest from the other countries. Despite the fact that the Chinese have proven that they can fertilize the Gobi. Obviously there is just above and under the equator still the tropical jungle playing an important part in our climate, being one of the few lungs left. There have been different attempts to regain fertile soil from the desert, but as usual they were under funded or prematurely stopped because the result took too long to show. The only industrial activity that got sufficient funds is the energy industry with their solar panel fields. Anyway, there are a couple of forgotten places and my preference goes to the point where Kenya, Somalia and Ethiopia come together."

"Somalia? Not exactly the safest place on earth. Is political stability not a prerequisite either?"

"Oh, but it's like with god ... what are politics? What today is considered to be stable is overthrown tomorrow. Remember what I told you about harmony? The current global political climate is one of destabilisation, too much duality. Like two equal magnetic poles pushing each other away in stead of opposite poles attracting each other to form again a unity. No Pieter, I am just returning from Somalia where I am working with the new government on the rebuilding of the country. The current leaders have realized that their country is rapidly silting away if it is only known for piracy or homicide by wandering gangs. I have also visited the governments of Kenya and Ethiopia for further economical development. Look at it as an African Liechtenstein. With some small advantages for the current leaders of those countries to ensure their corporation. So, I have good hopes that I will be able to redirect funds to the project. The lecture today was the first and probably the most important step to convince those old men to agree with my viewpoints. You might not notice, but they are the ones with the highest political influence, chairing a plethora of parliamentary commissions and workgroups.

"And what about the next part? The people? Are you going to place classifieds in The Guardian, Le Figaro, USA Today?"

Ian looked shrewdly at Pieter: "maybe not a bad idea. But in fact I aim at a combination of sheer coincidence and selection. Both scenario's have their issues because we are dealing with people, human individuals. If individuals are already quite predictable, in a group they become completely predictable. Of course there is the need to fill the hard skills. All sciences need to be represented by the proper specialists. Those can be identified because they are located at universities like this one or work in large R&D driven companies. Some of them, probably a lot of them, are quite frustrated that they cannot execute on their ideas. Because others mock them, work against them or because they have to make a living by trying to pass on knowledge to a bunch of teenagers who are utterly disinterested. The list is long, but not impossible. By filtering out the unnecessary you end up with a large but manageable team. But it is not all scientists. You need people who build and rebuild, maintain, replace and improve."

Pieter interrupted doubtfully: "that really sounds like a futuristic state with alpha, beta and gamma humanoids. Where have I read that before?"

"Only if that is your starting point. Your premise. But it is not. The equality principle remains intact. And, before you claim that Lenin tried this before coming up with a socialistic or communistic Unitarian society, I will say that the individual is the key. The person, the individual prevails and not the form of government or constitution. Again, it is the ideology that defines the people's attitude. And that attitude should be present from the beginning, especially with the ones who are going to be the first to populate the project. Than the normal group dynamics will take over."

"Sure we can discuss this for hours. But I still have my doubts about the basic ideas. What will you introduce as law? What if there are conflicts and you know that there will be trouble, as you said, we are dealing with people. What's the economical behaviour of the group?"

"You're thinking too static. Like everyone else you believe that all needs to be perfectly arranged. That you need to plan for the smallest detail, try to predict that a course of action will follow predetermined channels. That is not the way it works. That's how you create a planning straight-jacket that prematurely suffocates projects like this. Don't forget there is something like evolution. As long as the overall structure stands, the framework sketched. That is all it needs."

"And no big brother who controls whether everything is evolving along your pre sketched lines?"

"My dear Pieter, you are really a child of your time. First see all the problems and no time left to even arrive at the possibilities. No, there is no need for a big brother. From that moment on common sense will take over. People who have freedom also display a high degree of common sense. In their planning and control frenzy, people have lost their most important asset: common sense. I want to re-establish that as a cornerstone of our project.""

He stood up and invited Pieter to join him: "let's continue the discussion in the lounge of the hotel. It's a nice place and they have an excellent _Brunello_. Better than the fuel we have just tanked. But it has done what fuel is supposed to do, warm us up."

Ian paid the bill and both men slid, arm in arm, the last meters to the hotel.

* * *

Pieter nodded: "yes, and I recall that we left the diner table, quarrelling, followed by a brotherly attempt to solve all the problems of the world in the bar of the hotel."

"A fine memory, that is for sure," Ian agreed, "only the headache the next day was not that pretty."

Pieter went to the edge of the window and looked over the white roofs of the new buildings. "So you made it Ian, congratulations I assume. But it is not very clear to me why I got involved. To my knowledge I do not possess any special or unique skill set that we discussed at that time. And don't tell me that everyone is special and unique. That would be cheesy."

"Probably not. You are rather common in many ways. Which does not hold any value judgement, you know that," he hesitated before he continued.

"You probably remember your articles, or your series of articles that you wrote following our discussions. You made it into a case of honour to dig into the project, to x-ray the financing part, to comment on how unfair millions of development aid funds were channelled to this one project while others were craving for some money. I realized that you had nothing against me personally, that it was supposed to by your break-through article. So you had everything aligned. A hedonistic billionaire, well connected to the highest instances, who wanted to replay Utopia on his own. And what was the result?"

"A three part documentary that was programmed on different national stations," Pieter defended.

"Right, my good man. A three part documentary. Of which part one and two were programmed during the night transmissions and the third part hardly made it. But if you search long enough, than you will still find all three episodes on some dodgy conspiracy website. A site with not too many hits. Even YouTube at the time did no longer store it in their archives."

"And the public investigation on the spending of funds?" Pieter was not planning to give up so easily.

"Oh yes, if I am not mistaken the case was postponed and then quickly dropped. Of course there was a committee of inquiry at European level. One that did not even come to formation let alone a first session. At that moment there were elections and you know what happens with a parliament when their jobs are at stake."

Ian joined Pieter. "But don't worry. I had more than sufficient influence on European commissions to ensure the investigation would be vertically classified. But I am grateful for what you did. And that for not less than three reasons. First it confirmed my experience that the harder you want to bring something into the open, the faster is blows away. At one moment it was the leading article in some on-line news sites. It did not even make it on the front page of the printed editions. And the next day fish was packed in it. Pushed aside for another disaster, a scandal in Italy or a brutal murder in South Africa. The public is only interested in Eros and Tantalus, love and grief. Page three girl and tsunami. Not to forget sports. Bread and games."

Ian paused to organise his thoughts. "Secondly, your research was very thorough and revealed some weak points in my plan. You helped me by being critical and sarcastic, to fine-tune what I was doing. Since you had no ties with me, you were not hindered by any form of self censorship. You held a mirror in front of me."

"Interesting, makes me feel good to be your fool. And thirdly?"

"That's even the most important reason. Once your investigations had provided me sufficient insights to give the green light to the project it was time for you to move on. We ensured that your career would have to take a new turn and started to press charges against your editor, the press agency and the publishers. Our lawyers came into action, sent a letter to your manager who could only but capitulate. It provided me the chance to put you where I wanted you to be. Move to the Indian Ocean to act as the correspondent on no-fish treaties. This was an old project; I think from two thousand ten, that I brought back on the surface. As if someone was really interested. No, I needed someone at the right place who could help me at the right time. And that is exactly what you did the past couple of days by smuggling military secrets out of Diego Garcia's super computer."

"I was already impressed by the fact that you received my mail so quickly even when I did not send it to you."

"That was simple. We have quite good contacts with the news agencies. Our communication department had it intercepted quite quickly. And of course there was Alex, one of our corporate pilots who volunteered eagerly to live and work on the resort with his partner Brigitte. Since you used his computer, it was fairly easy to forward it to me directly. That helped. From Jonathan I knew you had the files so it was just a matter of waiting."

"And what has that to do with this so-called development project? Knowing you there must be a connection."

"Directly, very little. Indirectly, a lot. We will be able to judge clearly the coming days and weeks."

There was a knock on the door and Iveta entered, followed by Karum.

Ian apologized and shook Pieter's hand: "I am sorry but as you can see I still have work to do. I suggest that we meet again tomorrow morning for breakfast? I assume you are not the early bird that I am. So eight o'clock?"

In the corridor outside Ian's room he hesitated, indecisive what to do. The fatigue had disappeared completely and he would not be able to sleep. Pieter decided to pop by the bar of the hotel. He needed a drink to knock him asleep. He examined the small room card key that Karum had given him. His room was on the fifth floor also.

"Looks like I am Ian's VIP after all," he mused.

With springy steps Pieter descended from the stairs arriving at the bar. There were only a few late visitors and the bartender looked at his watch when he saw Pieter entering. It reminded him that it must already be well after midnight. He ordered a local beer that the bartender professionally drew from a tap, finishing with a perfect foam collar.

He thought: "Ian is right. You need a mix of different skills. A good bartender is one of those crucial skill sets."

Pieter enjoyed his first sip and tasted critically the beer.

"Not bad," he said to the man who had started to clean some glasses after he had given Pieter a small bowl of fresh peanuts.

"Thank you, sir."

"I am originally from Belgium. We have over three hundred sixty types of beer."

The man obviously wanted to lock up for the night and go home. The last thing he needed was a sticker getting drunk telling about his life in Belgium. He started to close some cabinets and said good night to the people who stood up to make their way to their rooms. Pieter was the only one left.

He decided not to make the bartender's life more miserable than needed. He finished his drink and with a "goodnight to you too" he turned around only to bump into Jane. He was shocked, looking at the bruises on her face and tears in her eyes. "Wow, Jane, what ..."

But without hesitation she put her arms around his neck and kissed him softly but resolutely on his lips.

* * *

Chapter 26

Carefully not to wake Jane, Pieter slipped out of the king size bed and switched on the TV set in the living room of his suite.

Jane had paid the price for telling her fiancée as clearly as possible that he was not the one she wanted to get old with. The mannered and controlled Brian, prototype of the ideal son-in-law, had burst into anger and hit her hard in the face. She had ran to her parent's room. Her father's prevailing sentiment was how he could return the guy the favour. Nobody hit his daughter without penalty.

After a discussion between mother and daughter, Mrs. Hutton had gone back to bed and Jane had promised to spend the night with Jackie. On impulse, she was not going to get any sleep anyway; she had gone to the bar in the hope to sort out her thoughts and feelings. Not that she wanted to get drunk, but a firm shot would certainly assist in the arrangement process.

When she saw Pieter she knew it. He was the one.

The CNN news contained all elements of a roller-coaster broken loose. There was so much information on the screen that it took Pieter a while to find his way through the graphs, comments and live pictures. But the purport was obvious. The international relations between superpowers and mini-powers became tenser by the minute. Countries were calling back their diplomats and diplomats were asked to leave countries. There were images of troop concentrations that had been deployed over the past twenty four hours. In some cities there were already riots between the Indian and Chinese populations. In Brussels different manifestations had clinched which had escalated in setting fire to the building of the European Community. The police and army forces had been joining efforts to bring the city back to rest. In most European cities people had come on the streets and where the law enforcement had to be deployed a curfew was established to prevent even further calamities. Till now the situation in the United States had been under control, but in the Middle East and specifically in cities such as Abu Dhabi and Dubai the riots with the Indian population had peaked with on the background a, almost symbolic, burning _Burq-El-Arab._

Jane rubbed her fingers through his bristly hair. She had pulled on one of his shirts and kneeled over him on the wide couch. "Wouldn't you rather look at me, honey? It's always the same bad news on the TV." She pushed her head against his so that her dark blond curls obstructed his view. He pushed her hair aside and peeked at the television set. More images of Asia where the military of Bhutan, Myanmar, Thailand and Vietnam had united forces against the stranglehold of India and China. There already had been several clashes at the borders. There was footage of American tourists, clearly confused, being repatriated with old C130s from their hotels at the foot of the Himalaya.

"Hey, are you already neglecting me? You are not a lot of fun." She fought for the remote control. A fight she won and mercilessly she switched the set off. "I have something much nicer to look at," she said provocatively while opening the middle buttons of her shirt.

"Jane, there is something wrong here. The purpose was to avoid all of this. And now these documents are being used to start what we tried to avoid in the first place. Something is wrong with the picture. And there must be a connection between this Utopia project and what happened over the past days in Diego. There must be one. And the connection is called Ian. I know him for a long time and despite his blabla on natural growth and common sense, I just know that he hates coincidence. He is not the type of man who leaves things to chance."

Jane took his head in her hands and looked at him teasingly: "well than my overgrown _Tintin_ should have another talk with Ian. And do it fast, come back right away and keep yourself busy with your new flame."

Quickly Pieter regained possession of the remote and switched on the TV set. With a big sigh she sat next to him. She folded her legs and let herself fall sideways against Pieter. She looked uninterested at the BBC news.

"It seems like each and every small conflict is escalating at the same time," Pieter remarked.

"It will not come to that, it will blow away as always," she yawned.

Pieter's mobile phone buzzed. It was Iveta. "Hi Pieter, good morning. It is a quarter to eight and I just wanted to inform you that Ian is on his way to the restaurant. So it is OK if you are a bit early also."

He cursed inarticulately. He had lost his feeling with the time. "Of course, Iveta. No problem."

He jumped up, ran to the bathroom to put on some clothes and put his head under a stream of cold water to control his tangled hair.

"Darling I am off. I had forgotten that I have a breakfast meeting with Ian. So good timing, I can ask him all about it."

He held her firmly around the waste. "I'll be back as soon as I can, honey."

"And what makes you so sure that I will still be here?"

"Because you have no other place to go to?"

"Don't you think you can get rid of me that easily. I think I will tuck myself into bed again. I am still tired."

She gave him a long kiss. "Don't be too long."

Pieter rushed into the breakfast room at eight o'clock sharp. He saw Ian sitting and made his way through the mostly empty room.

"Good morning Ian, eight o'clock sharp. As agreed," he said overcompensating.

"Good morning," Ian answered as he checked his watch. "You know, Pieter, a great trick to never be too late is to make your watch run five minutes fast."

"Already tried it. About five years ago someone tried to get me into that habit. The only result was that I started to count with each clock an additional five minutes so I was late everywhere."

"Mmmm, I will assume that that person was not me," Ian mumbled. "Why don't you take some food from the buffet and we can continue our little conversation."

Pieter returned with a plate filled with fruit, smoked salmon and yoghurt. Ian nodded in appraisal. "A healthy breakfast, I am glad that you take good care of yourself. Especially now you will need it to be fit."

A silly grin appeared in Pieter's face, not knowing very well whether Ian was now alluding to Jane or it had been an innocent prelude to what he was going to tell him.

Ian dapped with care the last remainders of fat from his mouth corners and pushed his plate aside, gulped down the rest of his black coffee and continued his train of thought from yesterday.

"The world will not end with a bang but with a whisper. That is an old lore And the world is already sighing and moaning deeply. What we have witnessed the past days has been present latently all the time. It just needed a little push, a small spark, and you can expect a chain reaction. The world as we have known it so far has been dying beyond return. Not as many believe because of climate changes, not because of some sudden pandemic, not by some doomsayer predicting the collision with a comet or meteor. But simply because we are with too many human beings. Civilisation has exceeded its capability to sustain its own mankind. Put a couple of rats in a box and they happily live next to each other. Put a lot of rats in a box and they start to eat each other or they die from stress. The equation between the current structures and the world population is since long heading towards a severe imbalance. Both structures and world population have to be brought back to balance. That is why the superpowers have agreed, in full consciousness, to start and end a world war. The main goal is not to decimate the population _an sich_ , but to clear political and religious views. There are more than enough hotbeds in this world. Many of these hotbeds are hundreds of years old; others are the result of more recent treaties like the First and Second World Wars. Others are new. Take the unrest between Spain and France over the water reserves in the Pyrenees while the alternative desalination projects did not make it because too expensive. Everything has become a productivity equation. In the end it has resulted in ceasing all innovation and the complete world-economy has come to a standstill and started to shrink. Do you know that today we are ten percent less prosperous compared to five years ago? And that curve is squared. It goes faster and faster. Few people can see through this."

He paused but Pieter continued to quietly eat his smoked salmon with a lot of taste.

"From time to time evolution needs a little push. To calculate simulations we needed the latest generation of super computers. The results that came back in order to achieve positive growth in our civilisation was the need to extinguish a number of well defined historical hotbeds. Secondly we needed to bring back the population with thirty percent. And thirdly it appeared that we needed to untie the economy from its pure capitalistic straitjacket."

"And who or how were these so called historical hotbeds defined? And who defines who is right, the Serbians or the Kosovars?"

"It is not a matter of being right or wrong. Honestly, the disputes in the Balkan have their roots years before the First World War. No, I am talking about the large conflicts between North and South, East and West. Again, as I said yesterday, it is not the purpose to arrive at a new order. Others have tried that route. Each attempt to arrive at this so called new order has either failed or it was very temporary. People want change. That is how progress is achieved. But the world is not changing anymore. Everywhere the status-quo is sought as the ultimate solution. Part of this change is that from time to time the whole mess needs a reset. If your computer or watch are not functioning anymore, the first thing you do is reset or pull the plug and reboot. Than it works again."

"Most of the time. Sometimes it blocks completely."

"It can happen. But not very often."

"Or you lose all your files."

"That could even be a good thing. Start all over again. Rebuilding your facts, your files, documents. Rebuild your ideas and insights. All ballast is gone. Stuff you never looked at anyway. Like a summer clean."

"But there are things that you don't want to lose. Pictures or letters that are dear to you."

"Than I sincerely hope you made back-ups. Like this place. But we are deviating. I don't think my comparison was that correct. What I am trying to say is that the world has slowly but surely evolved into an explosive mixture that only needs a small spark to ignite. And for the first time we have the technology and the knowledge to control that ignition. The past years I have devoted my time to come to agreements with the main councillors and advisors of the world leaders. These people stand in the shadow, love it there, but in fact hold the real power. Together we have convinced the political figurines that such a controlled war is their best option to safeguard their positive place in the history books."

"And the so called Indian and Chinese plans of attack are the spark?"

"You are almost correct, Pieter. Those plans have been artfully crafted to look real. Maybe, just maybe, they are actually real. Who knows? In times of war, deception and misleading communication are key elements."

Pieter had abruptly stopped eating.

"So this was a whole charade with fake documents?"

"That charade was needed. It served as a slowly burning fuse. The main purpose is to ensure that it all looks real and believable."

"So why did you not just let Votilio escape? Was it not _believable_ enough without a man killed?" He overstressed the word believable.

"Unfortunately this is where my theory proves to be correct. Indeed it was the plan that Votilio would bring everything out into the open. He was supposed to sail with one of the local boats to the place you flew to. But there were unforeseen circumstances. He decided not to bring it in the open but to sell it on the black market He got greedy. The patrol commander did what he had to do and tried to stop him, but Votilio decided to take his chances and tried to outrun them. He did not succeed and was killed. They lost sight of the small vessel till Oona's patrol discovered his body. And that is where you came into play. You were Jonathan's plan B. And it all fell together nicely."

"So for years I was plan B? Kind of a sleeper cell of a terrorist group? Nice to know. Anything else that you want to share with me to make me feel better that I started a world war?"

"Remember the song of Springsteen? _You can't start the fire without a spark_. Even without you the whole action would have taken place. It would be called improvisation. It might have been with a couple of days delay, but not more. In that case the leak would have been taken over by the communication officer of Diego. Or by John Freeman. Plenty of alternatives. But with you we knew that you would go to the extreme to make this public. And of course there were also the two girls who were supposed to be picked up in Mombassa and not in the middle of the ocean."

"And what if I bring this whole scam to the outside? That this explosive situation has been triggered because of some fake information? I really don't feel like going into history as the spark of the end of the world."

"You can try. But I am afraid it is too late for that. You might have watched the news this morning. There are so many things happening at the same time right now that your revelation would be nothing more than a side note, if it gets picked up at all. And there are already a whole bunch of people shouting that it is one big conspiracy. This time they are right. However, I believe the definition of a conspiracy is a plan that didn't work out very well. And this plan will work out. And don't worry too much about history Pieter. Everything will point that the information and the sources were genuine and correct."

"I have acted like an idiot. If only I had waited a bit longer. I should have taken the time to check my sources."

Ian nodded: "yes, if, if. Avec des si on mettrait Paris en bouteille. But you would have found out that all cross-checks point into the same direction."

"Well now I feel a lot better," Pieter replied, "so what is going on with this place?"

"A safe harbour. A place to start rebuilding in case something goes wrong."

"Wrong? Is there anything worse than what is already going on outside?"

"The deal is not to use biological, chemical or nuclear weapons. No weapons that would destroy the environment for a long time. The key word is control. Only deploy conventional weapons to bring down the infrastructure. But you never know. Although it is highly unlikely that someone comes up with the idea to initiate a chemical raid on a city or detonate a massive dirty bomb. Biological warfare is too risky for everyone since we cannot control these little buggers not to mutate in the wild. But in case something gets out of hand, than yes, this development project could well be the core of a new civilisation."

"You are not already moving all cultural treasures from their museums to this place, are you? Like the Mona Lisa?" Pieter said cynically.

"No, honestly, these things are unimportant. The important thing is that those works of art have been made and that we have all the knowledge around the Mona Lisa stored safely for our children and siblings. Through the centuries many culturally nice and important works have gone lost. Whether we now see a digital reproduction or the original, not many people will lie awake from that. By the way, what makes you so sure that what you admire in the Louvre is really the original? Besides the fact that I don't even like the painting."

"Now I understand why you call everything Abacus. This becomes your back-up of the world."

"If you want to put it like that. But it is also a nice _fait-diver_ that on this precise spot we have found an abundance of ancient artefacts indicating that this region already knew a civilisation and trade. Call it coincidence, but one of the first artefacts was a stone abacus. We have given it a special place at the entrance of the museum. So, yes, I thought it was a pretty neat name, don't you agree?"

"Whatever," Pieter answered, clearly with his thoughts somewhere else. He was desperately trying to find a way to undo all of this.

Ian continued, not in the least disappointed. "So, now that you know all of this, I also wanted to talk about your future here at Abacus. It is certainly not the intention to sit here for days and weeks on your lazy bum in a posh hotel room."

"That is not exactly my ambition neither. When can I get back to Europe? It doesn't matter whether it is to the UK or to Belgium."

"Not right away. Since yesterday Abacus has been closed off. Not hermetically, you can still try to reach the coast on foot through the Somali desert. But I would advise against that. In any case it will not take long before the civil aviation will be limited and that airports will only be used for military purposes. Next to that, airports will soon be closed because they will be amongst the first targets to bomb. No, your best option right now is to stay and integrate. Besides that, I need you."

"Haven't you used me enough? Or am I the only fool who is so easy to manipulate?"

Ian laughed: "no, you are not the only fool. There is a whole bunch of them, trust me. Listen to my suggestion. The coming months we will be living isolated. It is important that the people will know and understand what is happening in the outside world. But also, maybe even more important, that they know what is happening in Abacus. Most of the people here have come to this place to take on one or another task. As long as they were doing this task under the impression of _I am doing my thing and within a couple of weeks I am back,_ communication was not an issue. Now that they will be here for months, they will want to know what the others are doing, where we are going with the project, how they can make themselves socially useful, to be more effective in this mini civilization. The news from the outside world will be mostly bad news. The internal news will be positive and hopeful. And that should be over-communicated."

"So I can cover the births, marriages and the local poker games? How can I thank you. That's a dream come true."

Ian ignored the cynical tone.

"For that you will have a small team. We brought a number of journalists on board from TV, Radio, on-line newspapers, blogs and wiki's. You call it. But I need a seasoned team leader with scar tissue to manage the group of younger men and women. Somebody who can provide insight en guidance around Abacus' daily life."

Pieter stirred with his spoon in the cold coffee.

"You can also teach contemporary literature at the high school. We still need someone," added Ian with a wink. The wink was not picked up by Peter.

"I can also leave and take my chances. It is hard to accept that I am the only person who does not want to stay here like a slave or a prisoner. There must be hundreds of them who want to leave for their families. Especially now with what is happening around us."

"Of course you can leave and nobody will stop you. Whether you will find a lot of fellow travellers that remains to be seen. You know, most of them came here by invitation. We did not only select them for their specific skills or knowledge, but also their personal backgrounds. You might have noticed we have quite some families. They already are with their families and know that this is currently the safest place on earth. And the singles are really single, no brothers or sisters. And they already have figured out that they have more chances of finding a partner within the project than outside it. So the alternative that you offer, driving with a jeep for weeks through a barren wasteland that is in a state of war ... mmmm...mmmmmm. Sounds not very attractive to me."

Ian was silent for some moments to give his next sentence more impact.

"What are your plans with Jane? Take her with you? Or give her, you, a chance. Already suffering from fear of commitment? You are forty five my dear friend and if you want to deal with the loneliness in your life you better take action now."

" _Is there anything that this guy does not know?"_ Pieter thought.

As if he could read thoughts, Ian answered: "there is very little that stays hidden for me. You should know by now. And that has nothing to do with secret cameras or microphones. I just watched Jane in the lobby the other day. Probably you were the only idiot who did not see the look on her face when her fiancée kissed her. And this morning her father came already to see me with the question whether he could give Brian a beating. Man, pull open your eyes and let the light chase away the darkness over your brain cells."

"Are you than a new Sherlock?" Pieter reacted confused since he could not think of anything else.

Ian sighed: "you have my proposal. Take my advice. For now. You can still decide later what you want to do."

"And is Jane's father allowed to give that Brian a beating?"

"No, he is not. It does not help anyone."

"OK, I'll stay. If only because _I_ will be able to teach him a lesson at the right time."

"Love and hate don't bring good council. Keep your cool. He is ten years younger and quite bigger and fitter. You are of no use in the hospital."

Iveta arrived at the breakfast room. She made her way between the in the meantime filled tables and seats. Upon noticing Iveta, Ian ended their discussion.

"Today is going to be a fun day. You will get a guided tour. Now I have a short meeting with Iveta. She will accompany you on the tour. Also for her it is the first time she is here. Meet her in the lobby in an hour."

Pieter got up on his feet, still trying to interpret the information of the past talks.

"I will be there."

Iveta added quickly: "why don't you take Jane with you, Pieter?" She looked at him with eyes that said _trust me on this one_.

Pieter hurried back to his room and sneaked inside. The curtains were still closed.

"Hi Jane, _sweetie_ , wake up," he whispered softly in her right ear.

Unconsciously she wrapped herself in the light blanket, turned around and continued to sleep. In her dream she tried to balance herself on a rolling sailing boat. Brian had taken the helm and took a satanic pleasure in rolling the boat even more. Brian, who had taken her so lovingly in his arms. But than she saw the fist coming her way and she felt again the dumb hit. Slowly she started to realize that someone was rocking her gently. She opened her eyes.

"Once again a good morning, you were really fast asleep."

She moaned and sat straight in the bed. "And who might you be, sir?"

"Room service, ma'am. Your breakfast."

"That is a good start. I am hungry."

When Pieter left the breakfast he had quickly thrown fruit, orange juice, salmon, cheese, rolls and a small pot of coffee on a platter and had carried it out of the room before the eyes of the surprised waiter.

"My mother used to bring me breakfast when I was ill. It's been years that someone has done this for me. From now on you must do this each day," she said and put a bright red strawberry in her mouth.

"You have to share the coffee with me. I brought two cups."

She pouted: "it is _my_ coffee."

Playfully he pushed a croissant in her mouth. "Shut up and eat. We need to be in the lobby in an hour or so. Preferably dressed. And I still have plans with you."

"Oh, do you have now? I am curious. Not too many surprises, I think I have enough of them."

"Only pleasant ones, believe me."

* * *

Chapter 27

"Finally," Iveta thought. She had waited patiently in the lobby accompanied by another woman, when Pieter and Jane appeared from the stairs. Since she worked with Ian, Iveta had adopted his mania for punctuality. But in contrast with Ian, she did not let her displeasure show and she greeted Jane enthusiastically. The other person introduced herself as Francesca Venti. Pieter estimated her to be in her final twenties, slender with glossy dark hair and a natural tanned skin. She could hardly disguise her Italian descent. And for those who still doubted, her unmistaken accent made that doubt disappear immediately. It reminded him of the first time he heard Jane talk in her Aussie accent.

"On the programme today there is a tour around the most important parts of our project. It will give you a good overview how Abacus is constructed, what are the best means of transportation and, maybe the most important, I will show you Peter's new place to live. It is still being finished but in a couple of days you'll be able to hold a house warming party." She smiled warmly as only Italian women can: "follow me."

Pieter and Jane giggled; they behaved a bit like children on a school trip, subserviently following the guide. They stepped outside. It took a couple of seconds before their eyes were accustomed to the bright sunlight. The expected heat-blow held off, and the air was cooler and purer than expected. The hotel was surrounded by large, but relatively low white constructions that were widespread and separated by spacious green zones. Jane and Iveta quickly put on their sunglasses and moved into the back seat of the robust car that was waiting in front of the driveway.

Francesca gave a voice command and the clicking within the dashboard indicated that the car had started. Although the word started seemed to be out of place here. With a soft humming the car drove on the red flower edged driveway. Neatly aligned palm trees provided some shade for the garden workers perfecting the landscape.

Without stopping or looking left or right, Francesca whizzed on the deserted main road. Pieter had grabbed the handle mounted on the doorjamb and looked startled at her.

"I hope I did not frighten you, Pieter. I still have to adopt my driving style from what I am used in the centre of Rome. We try to limit the traffic in Abacus and besides all of our vehicles are equipped with a sophisticated anti-collision system."

Vividly Pieter could imagine Francesca making her way around the Coliseum, hooting continuously, gesturing and certainly not caring about the surrounding traffic. On the other hand that had become the only way to even move on the crowded roads of the European cities.

"All of our cars are electrical. Only the jeeps that picked you up yesterday are hybrids. You can reserve a car on-line via the portal of Abacus. Each evening there are courses covering all of Abacus' systems. I recommend that you enlist to one of those as soon as possible. It will make your life a lot easier here."

Francesca kept on rattling, apparently not expecting any answers.

"We are now leaving the arrival complex. She tapped with a gracious finger on the large display mounted in the middle of the dashboard. She zoomed out of the satellite picture and the typical build up of Abacus became visible.

"Abacus is being built based on the _asymmetrical and pseudo symmetrical_ principles. You will not find one centre, but rather a collection of junctions. Those junctions may be specialized in one discipline, for instance medicine. It encourages the direct and personal interchange of people and teams. Or there are junctions that cover multiple disciplines and share those with other junctions. The purpose is to avoid the formation of city centres like in the past, which degenerate and become abandoned. A city in itself is an old fashioned approach towards living and working. Supported by the right technology people can work socially from different locations.

She pointed out of the window. "The buildings you see over there are our biological research departments. As you can imagine, making this place as liveable as no other place on earth is one of the key objectives. The majority of the original local population is currently working on agricultural and livestock projects, which is why most of the living areas are situated in the west. Next to the labs we also have the agricultural college ensuring that the locals are playing an active role in the development of the area."

Pieter thought he could distinguish in the distance a large dome, not more than five storeys high. Everywhere he looked; the set-up was nicely arranged with green and well kept parks. He saw a flock of brightly coloured birds flying from one tree to another hoping to catch one of the large butterflies.

Francesca had noticed Pieter's interest in the dome and answered: "under the dome that you can see over there is a geo-thermal coupler. It is the most important source of energy for Abacus. Next to that each building is equipped with its own three-dimensional photovoltaic power plant. And we also have a small nuclear plant. That created some controversy as you can imagine, but they are close to achieve fusion, so I heard."

"The buildings are quite interesting. No cold glass in concrete constructions. It seems like they have been here for centuries. They breathe something natural. The style reminds me of the houses you can find on the Greek islands. You know the white houses with the azure-blue shutters. Here they are a lot bigger and don't have the shutters," Jane. commented.

"That is very well spotted, Jane. The houses, offices, public buildings like our library or the schools have been constructed with natural and ecological materials. They combine natural cooling and moistening mechanisms with isolation and durability. We have used as much as possible materials that can be found in the neighbourhood. "

"That cannot have been much," Pieter reacted, recalling the barren wasteland image that Ian had used.

"You'd be surprised what you can do with camel manure," Francesca answered. She was not joking.

Pieter could not get rid of the image of smelly rooms in spotless white buildings.

Francesca smiled: "your house will not be that bad."

"What strikes me is the number of pedestrians. You don't see that in Australia. Everyone takes the car to drive a couple of meters to go shopping," Jane continued her observations.

Francesca agreed: "we have spent a lot of attention to mobility. Not in the traditional sense of mobility which is trying to push as many cars as possible to a certain destination. The starting point was the pedestrian, segways and electrical vehicles. Because of the typical structure of Abacus nobody has to collectively drive for kilometres to either go to work or shop at one of the malls. I think that we have learned something from our suffocating centralistic cities. And for the few times that a car is needed, it can be rented."

The landscape changed and alongside the wide lane appeared free standing houses in the green parks.

"These residential areas are very naturally integrated with the environment. The windy roads, open lots, the trees and bushes. It reminds me of the French and Belgian coastal towns that were designed by architects like Stübben," Pieter added, "my grandparents used to take me during the summer holidays to the Belgian coast. Not that the North sea is as attractive as the Indian ocean, but the small village of _De Haan_ was a great example of urbanisation from the nineteen twenties. The windy roads and paths provided a quiet and relaxed atmosphere in that village."

He looked on the screen to check where they were heading to. He saw the residential parts and industrial zones as round pearls linked to each other, wider and wider in a concentric pattern where a junction could be seen as the centre or as a satellite.

Francesca parked the car alongside the road. "We have arrived. I hope you will like it."

Jane answered in his place: "yes, because he is so spoiled when it comes to houses. I hope it has the grandeur of his restored estate on Egmont."

They walked behind Francesca via a small path bordered with tropical plants and flowers.

The odour was striking and Jane was breathing deeply the sweet air, hoping to be able to identify the different aromas.

"A mixture of moist, green plants with a sultry smell of earth interlaced with a bouquet of vanilla, tropical flowers and the sharp smell of clove and lavender," she declared poetically, "And this path reminds me of something

"Just make sure you don't fall or we know immediately where the hospital is in this place," he replied.

Francesca answered: "the hospital? That is situated on the east side, closer to the airport. You must have passed it, but it is rather difficult to see from the highway if you don't know that it is there."

Just like on the Egmont Island, the path ended in an open space. This time not with a restored estate, but with a white plastered house that was built like a horse shoe around a lush enclosed garden. Some colourful glittering dragonflies took off from the still swimming pond like miniature helicopters when Francesca opened the cast-iron gate. Pieter estimated the house to be about twenty by thirty meter.

Jane and Iveta walked already in amazement through the garden that ended in a wooden terrace built over the swimming pond. There were a couple of deckchairs and they let themselves fall into the soft beige cushions.

"I'd be happy to spend the rest of the day here," said Iveta. Jane answered with some confirming noises.

Pieter had entered and Francesca gave him a short tour. Everything was brand new and shiny. The furniture was simple but of the highest quality. The walls were painted in a neutral egg-white and here and there some of the wiring was still sticking out.

"This is the typical three bedroom family home. Typical, yet unique. You will not find two identical houses in Abacus. I have to admit that this is one of the nicer ones. Some are bigger, others are more luxurious. As Abacus is growing, we see also more diversity in styles. Not always for the better, if you ask me. But that is of course my personal view."

She showed him the different parts and they ended the tour outside to join Jane and Iveta who were still worshipping the sun.

"So, do you like it?" Jane asked.

"I am not that difficult. I am more than happy with this one. After all these years I will have to get used that there are neighbours, that is all."

Jane corrected him: " _human_ neighbours to be precise. Those wild hogs on the island certainly knew how to build a noisy party."

"As you have seen we are finishing up, so you'll be able to move in the next couple of days. That is, if you like the house of course."

Pieter nodded in agreement: "of course, I am more than happy with this. Besides, we are not going to stay her forever, are we?"

Without answering his question, Francesca resumed her role as guide when they returned to the car. "Now we will have a short ride that will take us outside the current boundaries of Abacus. Not more than fifteen minutes, so enjoy the scenery."

The border was clearly announced by a series of traffic signs. It stroke Pieter that these were the first traffic signs he had seen in Abacus. A red-white barrier blocked the wide road. A number of armed guards gestured the car to stop and turn off the engine. Francesca opened the door and stepped towards one of the men whom she obviously knew, based on her kissing him. Together they walked back to the car and Pieter opened his side window. The man attentively observed Pieter and the girls in the back. He checked something on the small display that was strapped on his left arm.

"Good morning ladies and sir. A beautiful day to go for a little tour. You are in good hands with Francesca. Have fun."

He made a sign to one of the other sentinels and the barrier went up.

"I am happy that I did not have to show my passport because I did not bring it with me," Pieter said. "Wasn't Abacus an open project? What are the armed guards for?"

Francesca answered: "that's a recent development. With what is going on in the world, the control and the security has been increased dramatically. It certainly was not like that before. There is the fear that armed robbery gangs will abuse the situation to attack Abacus."

"I guess Ian has to protect his harmonious society," he continued bitterly. Nobody reacted so he shut up and decided to look outside.

Although there were still some spurs from the lush vegetation to be seen, these quickly disappeared between the red-grey barren grounds.

"This is how the place looked like before we started Abacus. Arid, deserted, inhospitable. Not to mention the raids by rebels, clans or merely lawless gangs. This road continues for another five kilometres but ends up in a dirt road which eventually dissolves in the desert. But we are not going that far, because I am going to take a short cut.

Without further warning or slowing down the vehicle, she took a sharp turn and left the road with shrieking tyres to race over a bumpy and dusty road.

"This way is faster," she shouted above the noise of the dashing car. "And I cannot resist it to for once _really_ drive."

The surroundings became greener again. After some kilometres they turned back onto a normal road and they drove parallel of sloping green pastures. Not that far from the road Pieter saw grazing animals which he could not identify. They seemed a lot bigger, yet not more ponderous, than the typical cow that Pieter knew. Something seemed to scare them and the herd ran fast in one direction, driving the young animals towards the middle of the group."

"A lion?" Pieter asked.

Francesca shook her long dark hair: "very unlikely. There is a laser guided system that protects those herds against predators." She laughed: "maybe a mouse?"

They looked in amazement how the large herd became a stampede, throwing dust and mud up in the air.

She slowed down the vehicle: "we are arriving at the largest agricultural project. On both sides of this road you will see stock breeding and farming. Most of the original inhabitants are working here. They provide rice, fresh vegetables, meat, even fish and oysters to the rest of Abacus. The result is that more and more people are coming this way to build up an existence, learn a trade or even start up a small business. Children are going to our schools."

Francesca drove the car carefully up a small hill. The view over the slopes was phenomenal. Vast farmlands were interrupted by dark forests and mirroring lakes. Pieter took the binoculars from Francesca and looked to the south where he suspected the whereabouts of Abacus. From this distance he could clearly see that Abacus was built a bit higher than the surroundings, but there was no sign of any visual pollution by antennas, skyscrapers or chimneys. Through the green he could distinguish the white of some of the houses and buildings. He concentrated again on the fields and saw different groups of people doing all kinds of manual work.

"Rather colonial, don't you think so?" he remarked. "The indigenous population can act as farmer while a couple of miles away, behind protective walls and barriers, the smart ones play with quantum physics and eat oysters."

"It is still a development project," Francesca defended. "Ten years ago these people were still living in the worst conditions facing poverty and diseases. And no, they were not happier then."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Pieter whispered.

"Did you already meet Karum? Well, ten years ago he lived about ten kilometres from this hill, in a mud hut. Ask him how he feels about this colonization."

"Were you here also at that time?"

"Yes, I was one of the first to arrive. I am the principal architect of Abacus."

"Annoying fly," grizzled Iveta, flapping wildly around her.

Their attention was moved away from Iveta's fly problem when they heard a sudden scream. Pieter aimed the binoculars and saw a group of people jumping into a pick-up truck which sped away. He followed the car driving up to the place where they had just minutes ago joked about the herd being scared by a mouse.

"I think we should take a look at what is happening over there, maybe we can help," said Pieter.

Francesca hesitated. She had received clear orders from Ian not to let her deviate from the program. Obviously this was an exception. They all entered into the car and Francesca turned into the entrance of the farm house. Excited men and women ran up and down, pointing at a group of men carrying a stretcher. An arm of the body on the stretcher shook unnaturally with the cadence on their steps.

It was the body of a white man, covered in blood and with serious visible wounds. It was not difficult to conclude that the unlucky man had been trampled by the stampede.

A nurse hurried and made the men place the stretcher on the hood of the pick-up. Dexterously he put the man on a drip and tried to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping wounds. His desperate expression did not promise a lot of hope. He shook his head while he again took the victim's pulse. After about ten minutes he gave up his reanimation efforts. Pieter heard the swelling noise of the ambulance sirens. The nurse took his mobile phone and stood a bit aside from the crowd that respectfully had gathered around the body. Pieter took this opportunity to get a bit closer to the man. He abhorred the destroyed body. Also the face of the man was heavily mutilated by the hoofs of the cattle. He tried to wave away the flies attracted by the clotted blood and the dripping faeces from the trampled abdominal cavity. The vicious buzzing drowned out the yells of the excited crowd that seemed to grow bigger and bigger.

Simultaneously with the ambulance, a man arrived who was without doubt the supervisor. A big guy, with straight ginger hair and a large red moustache. Dressed in three quarter shorts like on a Victorian safari. A long machete dangling from his left hip. On his right hip he wore a heavy revolver tucked in a dirty brown holster. Pieter did not know much about weapons, but the sheer size of the gun and the shiny round copper shells in the cylinder, gave sufficient clues that it was more of a hand canon than a popgun.

The man got out of the car and bawled something in what was apparently the local language. The crowd slowly went away, still excitingly debating the event. The man waited till the doctor had finished his fast examination, bothered by the many flies. He beckoned that the nurses could take the body into the ambulance. They turned the body to drag it on the stretcher of the ambulance and pushed it inside.

Only now Pieter could see the man's face clearly.

He held his breath as he recognised through the blood and the shattered bones Jonathan Stratford.

* * *

Chapter 28

The supervisor noticed Pieter's startled look and stepped straight up to him. He was breathing heavily, his round face was swollen in an unhealthy red-purple hue. As he was getting closer, Pieter realised how big the man really was. He bent forward making Pieter to stare at his irregular rosaceous nose. He had small, pale blue eyes that seemed to swim in a yellow watery fluid. The man looked straight into his face. A penetrating stale smell of alcohol surrounded him, making Pieter wonder whether he had a bad aftershave or a bad distillery.

"You know that man?" he asked with a heavy South African accent.

"It is Jonathan Stratford. US Navy officer who was located at Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean."

"And who might you be?"

"Pieter Van Dyck. Arrived yesterday and I am here on a tour with those people over there." He pointed at Jane, Iveta and Francesca who kept together, shocked by the view of the mutilated dead body. Jane had also recognised the body of Jonathan.

"Ah Francesca. Sorry, I had not yet noticed you."

Without giving Pieter another look he joined her. "Not a pleasant day to show tourists around. Have you seen anything?"

Francesca recounted that, as they drove by, they had notice the herd running away all of a sudden as if they were frightened by something. And basically that was it.

Pieter had walked to the fence where on the other side some of the large animals had gathered. The herd had calmed down again and the animals started to return to the meadows. People were still debating in small groups what happened. He joined one of those small groups where a keeper, heavily gesturing, was giving an explanation in the local language.

"What kind of animals are these?" Pieter asked.

"What you see over there is a _Bos Primigenius_. Better known as the aurochs or urus. We were able to bring together the genetic material of the urus with that of our domesticated species. The result is a colossal yet very friendly animal. The shoulder height of the cows is minimum two meters. Some of the larger bulls reach a shoulder height of over three meters. The warm climate and selected food contribute to their development. This all results in a meat quality that is superior to the finest Argentinean or Irish steaks. And I am not even talking about the production of high quality milk."

The man certainly loved his job.

"So the chances that they would attack someone is non existent?"

"Well, as good as. Of course they are animals with a highly developed instinct. But the only thing that scares them is when they see their natural predators. And we used to have some trouble with that."

"I thought that the area was secured by some sophisticated system?"

"That is correct. But it has to function properly. Well, we had quite some teething problems with the system. The _OR_ technology was certainly not flawless, especially at night there have been issues. I told them numerous times that the software was not ready for release, but no, the big shots wanted to implement it without listening to me."

"OR technology?"

"Object Recognition. Do you see those little stakes at the edge of the meadow? Those are laser sensors. They continuously scan the field and compare their results with a database of forms and temperatures. For instance a lion, a tiger or a hyena. When such a form gets recognized an alarm is triggered and security robots are activated from their sheds. The robots are rather large, very mobile, devices producing a high pitched sound to chase away the attackers. With the laser stakes we know the exact place and direction of the rogue animals so the robots are perfectly controlled and can even be ordered to pursue the predators till they run away to a safe distance."

"And because the system is not hundred percent reliable, it is quite possible that a lion or another animal has scared the herd," Pieter concluded

But the man shook his head and corrected him: "well, actually that would surprise me a lot. At this time of the year most of the predators are located at the large wallows where there is plenty and a variety of food. Those wallows are twenty, thirty kilometres away from here. The exceptional animals that are still hanging around here are already conditioned, so hard to imagine that they will try again. Maybe a sick or cast-away older beast that got lost here, that could be a possibility."

"Is the system keeping track of all the data?"

"Of course, what do you think. We, engineers are high on data. Yes, everything gets logged in order for the system to learn. Artificial intelligence. Only when there are new objects that it cannot recognize than we need to assist by programming manually."

"How does the system react on human beings?"

"Not. It is programmed in such a way that it does not react on human forms. It gets registered when someone walks in the meadows but there will be no robots activated. It better not trigger them, it's not fun to be chased by such a machine. And they are fast, I can tell you."

"Is there a way that I can look into those log files?"

The helpful man was about to answer when the supervisor appeared. "Don't you have work to do?" he barked unfriendly. With a stammering "yes, of course, much to do," he disappeared in one of the huge stables.

"It is not up to you to nose around here. We alerted the official instances and they will investigate. You must go back with Francesca to the hotel."

Pieter understood that a discussion was not going to be appreciated and obediently got into the car where Iveta and Jane were looking blank from the back seat. Francesca was talking in fast Italian on her phone.

He turned to Jane and Iveta: "how are you doing? I am sorry that you had to see this. It was not a pretty sight."

Francesca ended her call so Pieter could ask her: "who is that unfriendly urus?"

"He is Kik Von Wielligh." She had trouble with the pronunciation. "He was one of the marshals in the Kruger Park till he had to escape South Africa. Something to do with the rather unorthodox treatment of his people. But he knows the region better than anyone else, speaks the local dialects and knows the tribal chiefs and their ancestors better than they do. The rumour goes he was a mercenary in Somalia for a period of time and that is why he knows this place so well. Not the most pleasant person, but perfect for the job and the circumstances."

"Can we go back to the spot where we saw the herd getting into a stampede?"

Francesca hesitated but agreed: "we need to take the same route back anyways. It will be an estimate. I really did not check our position when the incident happened."

They all looked tensely out of the window hoping to recognize some orientation point when Pieter showed a small indent alongside the road. "There it was. I remember that I was thinking why on earth they had built a hard shoulder."

Francesca stopped the car and Pieter quickly crossed the road. The road was separated from the meadow by a wide ditch. From the still dark water Pieter suspected that the ditch was rather deep. He retreated some steps to make a running jump. He just did not make it and plunged with both legs in the water. Embarrassed he crawled up the muddy, steep bank, hoping that Jane had not been looking too attentively. With sopping shoes he walked on the soft dark-green grass in the direction from where he estimated the herd started to run."

Some of the large animals curiously approached him. They kept at a safe distance and observed their visitor with large spherical eyes. One of them was somewhat braver than the others and she pushed her flat wet nose against his shoulder. He had difficulty to keep his balance although the animal certainly had no hostile intentions. Pieter clapped his hands and the animal jumped away. Probably Pieter was more scared than the massive cow that left a slimy moist spot on his shirt. "A bit touchy, missy?" he shouted at the animal while he tried to smear off the slime with one finger. He started to walk in circles and after a while he had found the place where the animals had been frightened by something or someone. It was the beginning of a muddy spur through the field with trodden rumpled grass. A bit further he saw the footsteps where they had found Jonathan. He was horrified by the sound of the hundreds of flies nervously circling around a puddle of clotted blood mixed with mud and excreta. Pieter stooped to take a closer look, holding his hand in front of his mouth to shield off the unbearable stench. He took his mobile phone and made some pictures of the ground and the surrounding area.

He heard a noise that reminded him of an approaching electrical golf cart. To his surprise, and although he had never seen one, he recognised the thing that was speeding into his direction as one of the security robots. Pieter straightened himself, not knowing exactly what to do. When the robot was about to hit him, and Pieter was ready to jump aside and start to run, the machine stopped abruptly. It drove backwards to disappear at the edge of the meadow. Pieter could see that it returned to a discretely sub terrain mini-garage.

At that moment two four wheel drives stopped next to Francesca's car.

Three in military uniform dressed and armed men jumped easily over the ditch and stepped resolutely towards Pieter. "Sir, you are trespassing a restricted area. Please follow us back."

Pieter thought that the young man addressing him had seen a bit too many Hollywood war movies, but on the other hand his tone did not sound like an invitation for an open debate. Meekly he followed the men. Meanwhile a small foot plank had been laid over the ditch so that Pieter was spared the shame of taking a second bath.

He walked, still flanked by the soldiers, to Francesca who was heftily gesticulating with what apparently was their superior officer. Even from a distance he could notice that she threw in all her Italian charm to convince the man that she tried everything to stop Pieter.

"I hope you understand that you have entered a crime scene. Maybe you have destroyed important clues or made evidence useless," the officer snarled at Pieter. He shrugged his shoulders: "I really believe that these thousand kilo ur-animals have destroyed more traces than I with my eighty kilos."

"That is completely beside the point. You must return immediately to the hotel. The border checkpoint has been alerted and they need to inform me if you are not crossing there within fifteen minutes. That's the time you need and get to return."

He addressed Francesca: "and you should know better to let someone nose around here."

Without saying a word, but with a haughty sway of her long black hair, she got into the car.

Pieter broke the silence: "I am sorry that I brought you all into this. I should not have jumped over that ditch."

Francesca answered: "and I should not have stopped but instead taken you immediately home. It is as much my mistake."

Jane exclaimed in disbelief: "it is not about whose mistake it is or not. You could have been killed Pieter. Or are you all of a sudden a farmer? What were you thinking of? Less than an hour ago a man got trampled in a stampede and mister I-will-quickly-investigate-it is walking as cool as he pleases between the same herds. Are you completely out of your mind? I really don't feel to become a widow even before I get married."

Francesca smiled: "oh, how nice. I did not know that the two of you knew each other that well. So you are getting married? When? As you can imagine we don't have that many marriages here, yet. And don't forget the guide." She laughed with her own joke. "Remind me that I need to update your file now that both of you will be living in the house. Strange that nobody has told me that. Ah well, probably a bug in the system."

* * *

Chapter 29

They were met by Ian in the lobby.

"I have just heard the news. Tragic. Something like that has not yet happened here. Such a tragic accident. The Somali police will be here at five. They want to question all of you."

"The Somali police? Isn't here a head of security in this place?" Pieter asked.

Ian looked at him. "Head of security _was Jonathan_. He relieved his predecessor who returned some days ago to his home country. Regardless, the accident happened outside the borders of Abacus. With the Somali officials we have a gentleman's agreement that everything that happens inside our borders remains our business. Outside, they are leading the investigation. Of course we will give them all the support that they require. The last thing that I want now is trouble with the local police. Or worse, the army."

"I assume that the body has been taken to the hospital to define the cause of death?" Pieter asked.

"Indeed and I expect quick results from the autopsy. For me it is quite obvious that he did not stand a chance in a stampede."

"That is a fact. But it does not mean it is the cause of death. A man like Jonathan does not let himself be killed by a bunch of cows. Francesca, may I ask your help again to take me to the hospital?"

She looked at Ian who nodded: "of course, if you suspect that there is more going on here, by all means you need to look into it. I will alert the hospital that you are on your way and have to share all of their findings."

Iveta had returned in her role of personal assistant and was already on the phone with the hospital.

"Pieter," Jane started, "if you don't mind I will go and see my parents. They have not heard from me since last night and I don't want them to be too worried. Certainly not after this incident." She pointed at her cheek and eye colouring a deep purple. "I'll see you later, ok?" She kissed him on the cheek and whispered: "be careful. Don't run into two ditches at a time. One is silly enough. And put on some fresh clothes, you smell like cow."

Ignoring the fresh clothes remark, he said to Francesca: "Thanks, let us leave immediately, we need to be back around five."

Ian, who had overheard Pieter's last sentence, shouted at them: " _at_ five o'clock, not _around_ five o'clock."

The hospital was a large building that appeared to be more sterile and functional than the rest of the architecture in Abacus. It did not differ from any other modern medical facility in the rest of the world. Except that it seemed to be deserted. A doctor and a nurse were already waiting in the hall when Francesca pulled up in front of the entrance.

"I'll wait for you here."

"I'll be fine. I can take a taxi back to the hotel," Pieter answered automatically. He had already taken enough of Francesca's time. "You said that you still had a bunch of work to do, I don't want to keep you from that."

"You will have to wait an awfully long time to grab a taxi. We don't have those here. That's why you need to make car reservations, I'll teach you as soon as possible how to do that. But you can ask dr. Kitwaela to take you to the hotel. I assume that he will also be asked to come at five to be questioned about his findings after the autopsy.'"

Dr. Kitweala and the nurse, who simply introduced himself as Gordon, shook Pieter's hand and together they went to the cold morgue hidden in the cellar of the building.

"As you can expect, I am afraid that there was little to find. The vital organs in the abdomen were crushed. Also his back showed severe trauma from being hit by legs and hoofs. Lungs and heart were undamaged, but a man needs more to stay alive. He also had fatal injuries on the left side of the head resulting in severe skull and brain damage. Frankly I am surprised he was still alive when they brought him to the farm."

"So you did not find any gunshot wounds?"

"Gunshot? No. The body displayed the typical trauma from someone who has been caught in a stampede. Believe me; I have seen enough of these to know."

Pieter gave him a questioning look and Dr. Kitwaele explained: "I have not always worked here. I have been living in the Serengeti for years where I was a member of the flying doctors of Africa. Originally I am a Masai from Kenya. But from a young age I decided to heal instead of hunt or dance for tourists. So, why your question of a shot wound?"

"I just cannot accept that Ian died because of a stupid accident. It is so unlike him."

Dr. Kitwaela answered with patience: "The African jungle is quite different from a military base. Each day stupid accidents happen, even with the local population. That is why they call it an accident."

He continued to look through his papers. "If there was foul play and he was shot in the abdomen, than there would be little hope to trace anything back. The wounds are far too severe for that."

"No gunpowder traces on shreds of clothes?"

Dr. Kitwaela shook his head. "That's not my shop. That's for a forensic researcher and has to be ordered by the police inspector or Ian Summerton. We don't have the equipment for that kind of investigation. It has to be sent to Nairobi and I think that for the moment they have other worries"

"What do you mean?" Pieter asked.

"You haven't heard it yet? Kenya has proclaimed martial law after Ugandan troops have taken Kisumu. It is almost ironic that the traditional rogue state Somalia is keeping as one of the few its neutrality."

He put the file back on his desk. "That's it I think. I feel sorry for him. Just arrived and already ending up like this. Shall we now make our way to the hotel? Or is there anything else that you want to see or know?"

Pieter looked at the body that was completely covered with a white cloth. "No, to see is not necessary. To _know_ more, absolutely."

They left the hospital at the back side where on a large parking lot only a few cars were to be seen. "As you can notice we don't have that many ill people. Most of the patients are locals. Few have a car. From time to time we have a tourist who gets bitten by a snake or a scorpion. Quite honestly, the most common illness is a tourist's dehydration caused by excessive alcohol intake during a safari. Very exciting"

A couple of minutes before five o'clock, Dr. Kitwaele and Pieter entered the lobby together with an elderly man and two policemen. The old man did not wear a uniform, but a simple dark suit and a starch-white shirt. He did not wear any rings, watch or bracelets. This in contrast with the two policemen, whose heavy gold watches and wrist chains drew everyone's attention. Dr. Kitwaele greeted the old man and shook his hand long. Apparently a joke was told because the four men started to laugh.

Pieter decided that they had neglected him long enough and squeezed himself in the group. "Pieter Van Dyck. And you are?"

The man let loose of the doctor's hand and took the one from Pieter in a short and powerful grip. His face was no longer laughing. "My name is Abdi."

"Abdi?" Pieter expected an "Abdi, _James_ Abdi" answer but that did not come.

"Indeed. _Mister_ Abdi. I am the chief police inspector for this district."

Precisely at five, Ian entered the lobby and went straight to Abdi.

"Welcome Mr. Abdi. How are the grandchildren? I have heard that they are among the best of their class." Also here Ian's talent to inject a personal note in his greetings did not miss its effect.

Abdi's eyes lightened proudly. "Indeed, Mr. Ian. Both the boy and the girl are doing very well. They will have a great future."

Ian took Abdi gently by the shoulder and let him politely go first into the small meeting room at the back of the reception area.

Pieter sat opposite Abdi and took a close look at the inspector. He was a small, fragile man with a dark furrowed face and grey short frizzy hair. His hands shook slightly when he slowly took a pair of reading glasses from their black leather case and put it carefully on his nose. He thumbed for minutes, without saying a word, through the file that one of the policemen had spread in front of him. Pieter could not estimate the man's age. The fact that he apparently was already a grandfather did not necessarily imply he was of an old age. He had to find out via Ian once the man had gone back.

Abruptly Abdi looked up from below his reading glasses pulling Pieter away from his thoughts. The eyes of the man were sharp and vivid. It made Pieter conclude that in the worn out body there housed a young mind.

"Zo, _meneer Van Dyck_ ," he spoke with the correct Dutch pronunciation. "Would you mind telling me how good you knew the victim?" His English was perfect.

"I have known Jonathan for about three years. He was the commander in chief of the American naval base at Diego Garcia. I lived about hundred miles away on one of the other islands in the Indian Ocean. We met about once a week. Sometimes he came to stay at my place, with some of the others who were stationed there. Mostly we met on the base because I needed supplies. He was an outstanding serviceman, who hated paperwork and computers. However, I misjudged his dislike of computers taking the events from the past days into account."

Pieter stared at Ian, but he was just helping a waitress carrying a service tray with a pot of tea and some small cups.

"Mister Abdi, I cannot believe that Jonathan has died just like that."

"And why do you think so? I understood from Mr. Ian that you did not end as friends. Actually that you were quite upset about what he did to you and your fellow travellers. Apparently you did not know your friend that well."

"Maybe. And yes, I was not in a good mood when I found out about his role. But I would not kill him for that reason, if that is what you want to suggest. And, since Ian painted me the big picture I understood why he acted the way he did."

"It is not because we understand the _why_ that we accept the _how_ ," Abdi answered, suddenly adding: "why were you so fast to run back to the place of the accident?"

"First of all, I was not fast. And I just followed my first reaction. Maybe there was a chance to find something before the returning herd destroyed all possible evidence."

"So you believe that we are not capable to conduct a proper investigation?"

A bit annoyed Pieter answered: "nooo, I believed that you would never be able to arrive on time to that place before the herd had returned. By the way, did you find anything?"

"Mister Van Dyck, you know very well that I cannot tell you that. Not as long as the investigation is ongoing. It is not because you are currently in _the middle of nowhere_ that we don't adhere to the processes of investigation and justice. So, allow me to bounce that question back to you. Did _you_ find something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes I did," Pieter said while he pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the menu and showed one of the pictures he had taken of the pastures. Mr. Abdi held the device at arm's length and studied the small screen.

"I suggest that we download that picture onto one of your computers so you can properly check the details."

"That is indeed a good suggestion" Abdi answered. He said something to one of the officers who opened a laptop. "My assistant will upload the pictures to our computer."

Pieter poked him triumphantly, on the edge of being provocative: "I am sure that your people did not find that, right? Or those of yours, Ian?"

Abdi looked at Ian who nodded unnoticeably. Abdi made a sign to the other policeman who took a small plastic bag out of a cardboard box. Abdi threw the small bag in front of Pieter on the table.

Dr. Kitwaela shouted: "really!"

Pieter took the bag and looked closely at the large copper shell. In the meadow he had spotted one, glistering in the sun in a spur and had quickly taken some pictures.

"A serious calibre," he finally said.

"You know something about weapons?"

"No, actually I don't. But I can distinguish whether the shell contained a small or a big bullet. And that looks like a really big thing."

"To be precise, it is a point forty five. Before the First World War very popular in this region during the English colonisation. They were liked because it provided protection against attacking natives. Does it look familiar to you?"

"No, the only ammunition that I have seen was in the weapons used on Diego and those were certainly not that big. Do you believe now that Jonathan has been shot first?"

Abdi did not answer but moved his attention towards dr. Kitwaela: "why did you just now yelled _really_?"

"Because Mr. Van Dyck asked me specifically whether I had found any bullet wounds on the body. Or whether there were traces of gunpowder in the wounds or on the clothes."

"And were there?"

"The body was too traumatised to tell with certainty whether or not a fire arm had been used on him. On the less affected parts of the body I can be formal that no bullet impact or other suspicious wounds could be found. Concerning the investigation of the clothes for spurs, that is up to you to decide, Mr. Abdi."

"Precisely," Abdi answered and started to study the file again. There was a silence in the meeting room which was interrupted by Ian: "another cup of tea, Mr. Abdi?"

He answered with a big smile: "yes please, the tea here is the best of Somalia," and added in the same breath: "I have no further questions for you, Mister Van Dyck. Neither for you, doctor. I will study your medical report at home tonight. I thank you."

He stood up but Pieter protested: "but _I_ have further questions, Mr. Abdi."

Abdi smiled affably: "that will have to wait, Mr. Van Dyck. We have other people to interrogate. May I assume that you will be staying for a while?"

"Well yes, but..."

"Than it is arranged," interrupted Ian. "Pieter, we can come back to the subject later tonight, but now we have to let Mr. Abdi do his work."

Pieter left the room with Dr. Kitwaela. They shook hands at the glass sliding door of the entrance. "See you later. I am sure we will meet again - soon."

"I am afraid so," Pieter answered. "Before I forget, have you already met a Miss Oona De la Fayette?"

Kitwaela was thinking: "no, but I had expected her today in the hospital. As far as I know she did not turn up."

"Ok, well, thanks again for the ride."

A heavy black pick-up stopped before the entrance door and missed Kitwaela by a whisker. From the car descended a familiar figure who, with wide open steps, made his way across the lobby to the meeting room.

From the corner of his eye Pieter saw the large heavy revolver hanging. Now he remembered where he had seen those shells before.

* * *

Chapter 30

"Could you please put me through to the room of Miss Oona de La Fayette?" Pieter asked at the reception.

"No problem, sir. Let me look it up for you."

She went with her finger over the computer display, took the phone and tapped discretely a number so that Pieter could not catch Oona's room number.

She smiled charmingly but put the horn back: "I am sorry, but Miss de La Fayette is not in her room."

"Can I leave a message?"

"No problem, sir. Please take the telephone at the right of the lobby and I will connect you."

Pieter picked up one of the ugly vintage phones lined up on a table in the lobby. The girl at the reception switched him through to the answering machine of Oona.

"Oona, this is Pieter. Can you please try to reach me as soon as possible? You probably have already heard what happened to Jonathan. It is urgent. I am in room five hundred twelve."

He put the horn back on the hook and walked via the back of the hotel to the vast garden. The sun had since long started her descent and had lost her strength. Some of the remaining guests at the poolside collected their belongings and tried to convince their children to leave the swimming pool.

Pieter checked a quiet place in a corner of the patio. A diligent waiter arrived instantaneously with a menu card. Pieter ordered immediately their largest beer from the tap.

"Time to taste an urus-steak," he thought.

The man at the farm had not at all exaggerated. The steak was a sublime mix of the best that Kobe, Argentinean and Aberdeen could offer. The white veined meat had a full wild taste. In silence Pieter had to compliment the chef for the perfect _cuisson_ of the grilled meat. Despite the circumstances of the day, he tired to enjoy his dinner.

Just to be sure he double-checked with the waiter that he did not have to settle his bill. Patiently the man shook his head.

Taking two steps at a time he ran to the fifth floor, hoping that in the meantime Oona had returned and picked up his message. The red light of his phone did not blink. No messages.

Pieter sat on the sharply made bed and untied the shoelaces of his heavy hiking boots. The mud was hard and had dried on his shoes and trousers. He let himself fall and stretched out on the bed trying to empty his mind.

The sharp ringing of the phone woke him up. Confused that he had actually fallen asleep he scrambled for the phone and with a coarse throat he answered. A merry voice on the other side twittered: "Hi Pieter, this is Oona. I just returned to the hotel and got your message. What's up? Are you already missing me?"

Severely he answered: "Oona, I think it is best that you come to my room. I gave it to you in the message."

"Yep, five-twelve. I am on my way to the VIP floor."

Her broad smile disappeared as she stepped in Pieter's room and she noticed his serious face. "What has happened? What is wrong with Jonathan?"

Pieter decided to break the news as straight as possible and took her in his arms: "Jonathan is dead. There was an accident with a stampede of frightened cattle a couple of kilometres outside the project."

With a pale face Oona sank into one of the seats of the living room. "An accident? I cannot believe it. When did it happen?"

"Close to noontime today. We were making a tour around the project when it happened. I saw him when he died of his injuries."

"No, that is impossible. But he was just here. We had breakfast together this morning, we agreed to meet each other to catch up before we both went off to our appointments."

She wiped away the tears appearing in her eyes, leaving a mascara smear on her cheek.

Pieter probed: "did he tell you where he had to go to?"

"Yes, he first had a meeting with Ian. Some sorts of briefing about what his role was going to be. He was quite proud that Ian had selected him to run the security operations. That meeting must have taken place just after your discussion with Ian. We saw you rushing out of the breakfast room with a tray. We did wave at you, but you have not seen us. You were quite eager to run upstairs again."

Pieter ignored the last comment. "But he did not tell you where he was going to today? Or who he was scheduled to see?"

"No, I believe he did not know himself. We have talked more about my assignment."

"Were you not expected in the hospital at the airport?"

"Yes, how do you know that? I had a meeting with a Dr. Kitwaela. I have tried to reach him, but without success. Then someone called me from the laboratory whether I was interested to meet the team of the tropical medicine. They wanted my advice on some new Malaria pills. So that is what I did and I just returned. Only to hear this kind of news. I'm sorry but it is difficult to accept."

"Kitwaela claims that you never showed up."

"No I didn't, but I left at least three messages and I talked to his assistant or nurse who was going to pass on the message. I forgot his name."

"Gordon?" Pieter betted.

"Yes that is it, Gordon. He was going to pass it on to Dr. Kitwaela."

Pieter was thinking while Oona tried to suppress the tears. She sobbed silently. "He was so relieved to be here. For him it was a new start. And now this stupid accident."

"I don't think it was an accident, Oona."

"Why not?"

"Can you mount a silencer on a revolver?"

"Sure you can but it will be of no use."

"Why is that?"

"Theoretically you can screw or click a silencer on the barrel because revolvers are old designs and thus normally sub-sonic. In other words, the bullet does not leave the mouth faster than the speed of sound so it does not break through the sound barrier. But with a revolver the real issue lies with the bullet cylinder which is located a millimetre away from the barrel. So the sound does not come from the mouth but from the cylinder. I am sure someone came up with the idea of a cover around the cylinder, but I am also pretty certain that was not too handy. And they would have to be custom made."

"This shell was found close to the place where Jonathan was grabbed by the herd." Pieter showed her the picture he had taken.

"Short and thick. Antique ammunition for an antique weapon. Probably a Colt or a Webley from the beginning or middle of last century. Most certainly not suitable for a silencer."

"And those museum pieces still function?"

"If they are well maintained, I see no reason why not. The challenge is more to find the right bullets. The ammunition has to be fresh. The weapon will not fire reliably if the bullets are old. So if you want such an old gun to be operational, the ammunition is most likely the weak point. I would not like to see a lion coming my way when my gun is loaded with antique ammunition of over a hundred years old. Of course there are here and there small companies that produce this for fanatics or collectors and sell it on the internet."

"And the sound of the shot?"

"You mean how loud? Like a thunder. More noise than efficiency. It is almost impossible to aim those things and the recoil is so hard that it can dislocate your arm from your shoulder."

"Don't those bullets leave traces in the body?"

"I am not a coroner or a medical examiner, but I would say yes. The temperature of a classic lead bullet is around two hundred and fifty degrees Celsius. A bullet burns flesh and organs. So when conducting a thorough investigation there should certainly be traces to be found. It also depends on the kind of ammunition. I can imagine that if someone makes his own bullets he also wants to experiment with the tip. For instance a full metal jacket. That will not splinter in a body. But that would be a weird combination, a Webley loaded with full metal jackets."

"But somewhere there should be a trace, also in a ..." he hesitated and continued in a lower voice: "in a trampled body?"

"A lead bullet bursts open in an arc of a hundred and eighty degrees in the body. That results in an exit wound that you cannot miss. And with ninety nine percent certainty somewhere in the body there will be lead fragments. A modern full metal jacket will not be so easy to trace back, but the chances that you find a bone or burn marks is quite real. Also on clothes there will be marks of entrance and exit."

"So, a bit of a coroner would find this."

"Yes, no doubt about that."

"And the bang is loud?"

"To be heard for kilometres in the area."

"Kitwaela conducted a medical investigation and claims that he has not found any traces."

"Than it was an accident after all."

"I'd like to have a second opinion."

He looked at Oona who saw the unasked question in his eyes. "No, Pieter, you cannot expect that from me. Jonathan was one of my best friends. We even had made reservations for tonight in the restaurant." Her eyes filled again.

"Just because he was your friend, our friend, he has the right for a thorough examination. I don't know what is going on, but the past days have taught me one thing. There are very few people that you can trust.

She kept hesitating but finally nodded slowly. "Okay, I will do it. But I will need your help to receive the permissions. And access to the full report of Doctor Kitwaele."

"You got it. I'll ask Ian's permission. His reaction will already reveal a lot."

"What do you mean? Do you believe he is somehow involved in this?"

"Correction. Sometimes I wonder if there is something he is _not_ involved in."

Pieter opened the door after he heard a soft knock. Jane hugged him till she noticed Oona. She smiled sadly.

"Hi Jane, a pity that we meet again in these circumstances."

"I came to fetch you for dinner, Pieter. I did not know whether you already had something to eat or not."

"I had, but maybe you can take Oona? I think you both can use the distraction and the time to catch up. I need to get in touch with Ian."

Jane agreed, "But can you please, please put something clean on? You smell even worse than a couple of hours ago."

Hi grinned sheepishly: " _a good billy goat smells_ a true saying in Belgium." Nevertheless he disappeared in the bathroom to shower and dress.

Later Pieter walked through the corridor and stopped at the door of Ian's suite. To his surprise Ian opened the door himself.

"You are even here?" Pieter sounded amazed.

"Actually I had expected you earlier. Please come in and have a seat at the table."

"Has our good inspector _Mister_ Abdi discovered anything yet?" Pieter smirked.

"Do not underestimate Mr. Abdi, Pieter. He is one of the most intelligent men I know. A proud and honourable gentleman. Don't be fooled, twenty years ago he stood at the top of the African Interpol. At that time I have worked a lot with him and a few years ago destiny brought us back together. He is one of the reasons why Abacus has been built exactly here. His village is situated around thirty kilometres from here. He knows all the clan heads, the family eldest, the warlords, the local and regional politicians and is well connected to a whole series of African leaders. He is not to be mocked. And nobody does it."

"Destiny and faith are for you a bit too unpredictable, Ian. I don't buy that."

"Fine with me," Ian smiled. He put a glass in front of Pieter and filled it with wine and put the bottle back in the cooler. "What is it that you wanted to know?"

"Anything new coming out of the investigation around Jonathan's death?"

"Kik is the prime suspect because of the shell. Further investigation will determine whether he will be put in custody or not. In any case he left the hotel in a very bad temper. But on the other hand, I have never known him differently. Then Francesca and Jane have done their version of the story. That matched exactly with what you had already told us. Also a number of people who happened to work outside the farm at the moment of Jonathan's death have been interrogated."

"Did any of them testify that they heard a shot?" interrupted Pieter.

"They were all unanimous. Nobody heard anything. But a silencer could have been used. A shot would certainly have alarmed the people outside. The situation in this part of Somalia is calm and stable. Trust me; everyone wants to keep it that way. A shot or a bang would have caught their attention. And that confirms the report of the doctor that no traces of shot wounds have been found."

"I understood from Oona that this morning you had a meeting with Jonathan, right after our meeting?"

"Thanks that you have already talked to Oona. She is still on my agenda to speak to her later tonight personally. But to come back to my morning meeting with Jonathan. As you probably know by now he had arrived here to take the position of head of security. As Abacus is growing we need a more professional and extended security, certainly with all what is going on in the world these days. His predecessor could not make that step. I needed someone with a military background, someone used to command a group and could design and implement a security strategy that balanced the defensive with the offensive. That is our requirement in the current circumstances. Iveta had arranged for him a series of meetings with his future departments. Those were ready to brief him on the current situation, the running projects, the issues faced and so on. The idea was that he would be able to set priorities for the team as soon as possible."

"Can I obtain a list of all those names?"

"Abdi has already received that list and will start questioning these people as of tomorrow morning. He has started to reconstruct the last couple of hours of Jonathan's life. That is police work, Pieter. Leave it up to him."

"Didn't you want me to deal with the ins and outs of Abacus? This appears to be an important development in the history of the project, right?"

Ian sighed deeply and shook his head: "I assume so. You are a stubborn man Pieter. But I like that."

"Million-Euro question: who profits from Jonathan's death?"

"Well, when his predecessor left there were a couple of candidates eager to take the job. I can give you the names."

"Let me guess... Kik?"

"Indeed, of all the candidates he was the most vocal. Also the most outspoken when I told him I preferred Jonathan to take the responsibility. He had a hard time to accept that an outsider, who barely knew where Kenya was situated, was chosen."

"So you don't believe in an accident anymore?"

"I have not for one moment believed that. But evidence needs to come."

"So, I assume that you will not have an issue to give Oona permission to conduct a second autopsy on Jonathan?" Pieter quickly asked.

"Do you think she is sufficiently emotionally detached to do that?" Ian countered worriedly.

"She is a highly qualified doctor. Of course she is. I would feel a lot better if there is a second opinion."

"So would I.. But please let her do this with the proper diplomacy. Kitwaela is a Masai. To do this too bluntly could be insulting. And he is _also_ a highly qualified doctor."

"If he is that honourable, than why did he lie about Oona?"

"I am not quite following."

"He claimed that Oona had not showed up. But Oona said that she had tried to reach him and that she had left several messages. She also talked to his assistant, the nurse, Gordon."

"No idea. Find it out. And ... please share all of this with Abdi. Don't start some parallel investigation. We don't have the time for that."

Iveta entered the room; Pieter had not heard the door opening but Ian turned to her: "Iveta, can you please give Pieter the same name lists that you provided to Mister Abdi earlier today?"

"Oh yes, and can someone teach me how to reserve a car? I think I want to go back to the farm to have a closer look at those robots and their security."

"I will appoint you a car, Pieter."

Iveta typed in the meantime on the screen. " _Voila_ , now you have a private car, next to Ian, Vladimir and Juergen. Quite an honour." She winked.

Ian hurried to specify: "but that is temporary. Just like it is for us."

"One last question, Ian. Now that Jonathan's career has abruptly come to an untimely end, who is your preferred candidate to take the job?"

"Very good question, Pieter. You are the second one posing it. I had two guys on Diego. I asked Philippe Bramaud to join us. He lands tomorrow morning."

* * *

Chapter 31

Jonathan walked to the meadows. Looking left and right, as if he was searching for something. Carefully he pulled a large revolver from the brown holster that rested on his hip. The copper shells reflected the burning sun. The aurochs grazed undisturbed as he slipped between the long legs of the massive animals. He was followed by Dr. Kitwaele who, with spear and shield painted in Masai war colours, sneaked through the long grass. As he turned around, he held his finger to his mouth to notion to Kitwaele that he made too much noise. His eyes grew as he stared in the barrel of a large revolver. Kiwaele laughed loudly and babbled something in his mother tongue. But Pieter understood it:

"Hey honey, are you awake?"

Jane cuddled next to him under the sheets and whispered in his ear: "are you awake?"

A bit grumpy he turned on his back and murmured: "I am now."

With half open eyes he asked: "and how did you get in here?"

Jane smiled. "My female charms. The guy at the reception didn't have a problem to make a second card for your room after I had told him that I am the love of your life. Francesca and Oona confirmed that bold statement without blinking an eye."

She put her long leg over his waist and leaned on her elbow while she looked at him.

"I hope you did not think that you would get rid of me that easily."

She came closer to him and kissed him softly, with her tongue sliding down his chest and belly.

From between his legs she asked: "since when are you sleeping naked?"

"Since I know that you come and visit me in the middle of the night," he answered, "a man has to be prepared."

* * *

Chapter 32

When Dr. Kitwaela entered, Oona had already been investigating for almost three hours every square centimetre of Jonathan's remains. On his face there was no sign of annoyance. On the contrary, he inquired with genuine curiosity whether she had found something.

Concentrated she shook her head. "No, I have taken samples of bone and tissue where I am not sure of, but no breakthrough."

"So nothing that points at another cause of death than the stampede?"

"Unless these samples contain other traces, no. Do you know where we can have these examined in a lab?"

"Normally we would send them to Nairobi. But I am afraid that is out of the question now."

"I am sure Abacus has a number of well equipped labs?"

"Not our own clinical lab. But there is a lab at the chemical research centre and one for bio-mechanics. I am sure that they can give us a hand if they want to."

Oona pulled off her latex gloves, disposed them in the dedicated container and walked to the exit with her sample box. "Want to? That is only a call from Ian. Let's go there as soon as possible."

Dr. Kitwaela had to double fold to fit into the car as he slipped next to Oona. "Why they make these cars so small, it really beats me," he complained.

Oona, even with her one meter seventy, was a striking contrast with Kitwaela. She protested: "and I think they make them far too big. Tell me, how do I need to drive to the closest lab?"

* * *

Chapter 33

Although traffic signs alerted drivers for two kilometres that the smooth ride would soon be over, the tidy asphalt road still ended abruptly. It took Pieter by surprise. He slowly slalomed between the many pits and pot-holes in what was supposed to be a road. Left and right grew some bushes with thick thorns in which small birds apparently had found a way not to spear themselves. Pieter knew the typical dry savannah only from documentaries seen on _National Geographic._ Some skinny camels and goats grazed at the dry grass that grew in patches in the arid reddish soil. The picture was quite a contrast compared with the big healthy cattle moving around the dark green meadows.

Pieter looked at the display that gave his exact position. Soon he should see the dusty ruins of some long deserted settlement. According to the directions provided by Ian, that is where an even smaller road would lead to the village of inspector Abdi.

The broken mud walls of some houses built around a destroyed tower appeared right of the the road. Pieter slowed down to almost waling speed not to miss the turn to the village. Ian had told him that from time to time there was a traffic sign. But that disappeared regularly or kids turned it into the wrong direction.

This time he got lucky. On a crooked pole a sign was mounted with Somali and Arab writings. Although Pieter could not understand any of it, it was for him the indication to turn onto the small road. The road became narrower and narrower, with two deep tracks from cart wheels. It looked as if this road was not often used by modern transportation. Slowly he continued zigzagging till he reached the first small houses of a village. It was remarkable that although the building style was classic, the houses were spacious and well kept. Most of the huts had solar panels and occasionally he could see the external unit of an air-conditioning.

Pïeter increased his speed cautiously as the road became wider again. He had to take care not to receive a goat or pig under his wheels. He stopped in what he assumed to be the centre of the village. Some children on their way to school came curiously standing around him as he parked the car at the village square. Small stalls with fruits and vegetables, clothes and kitchen utensils were frequented by colourfully dressed women. A man yelled at the children who ran to a narrow gate and disappeared in the school building. The man waved and smiled and said something incomprehensible. Pieter smiled and waved friendly back till the man disappeared behind the gate and entered the class room without doors or windows. He heard a class chanting a prayer to start the day.

He stepped towards the largest building of the square. A discoloured Somali flag hung from a pole. Some jeeps were parked nicely in front of the staircases. Either someone had just washed them or they were not used very often. Ian had described the building as a mixture of townhouse, administrative centre, bank, post office, central bus stop and police headquarters. Pieter entered via the open double door and came in a dark, stale smelling corridor. Some people sat on a bench along the wall, solemnly holding in their hands official papers. A bunch of small children played with flat pebbles on the floor. Above the doors there were wooden plaques with hand painted texts which did not give away their meaning to Pieter. A nervous man carrying a bundle of files rushed out of one of the doors. Pieter tackled him and asked: "inspector Abdi?"

The man pointed at the rickety stairs and gestured to mount it. He disappeared into another door.

The corridor above was darker and staler than the one downstairs. It reminded Pieter of a deserted school corridor with left and right classes. On her knees, a chubby woman was scrubbing the floor.

"Mister Abdi?" Pieter asked her.

She looked up with her sweating face and pointed at the other side of the corridor. In broken yet clear English she said proudly: "Mister Abdi is left. Last door."

Pieter knocked but nobody answered. He entered into the smoked office where men patted on old fashioned typewriters. It reminded him on how Hollywood wanted us to imagine a NYPD office from the nineteen thirties. In the corner of the room stood a computer, nicely protected with a plastic cover. Next to it he saw Abdi sitting. He was looking outside the window and observed the crowd on the square. Pieter concluded that the man must have seen him arriving. He might have had the courtesy to meet him halfway.

"Mister Abdi?"

Abdi looked up and smiled. Pieter thought: "finally a smile. Now I must be one of the good ones."

"Thank you, Mister Van Dyck to be so kind as to pick me up here in our little village. I am ready, we can go now."

He put some files under his arm and stepped speedily outside.

On the square Abdi was greeted and spoken to by practically everyone so it took a while before they arrived at the car. Abdi took his time. Especially when he was approached by some young women who giggled and pointed at Pieter. He said something and they burst out in laughter, leaving arm in arm but regularly looking behind them.

"What was that all about? What did you tell them?" Pieter inquired. He did not like it to be the laughing stock.

"Those girls? Oh, they were only interested whether you were rich and single. In that order of importance."

"So what did you answer? They thought it was very funny."

"They are looking for a good catch. Preferably an old man who has a lot of money and will die soon. For us it is difficult to estimate the right age of a white person. You could well be their grandfather. On the other hand they promised you to give you a good last couple of years.""

"You're not even close," Pieter answered insulted.

Abdi continued to wave at people as they left the village.

"Ian convinced me to include you in this investigation. Normally I refuse that. But since you are not a police man, but only a journalist, I have agreed. This time. I can imagine that Ian wants to get answers soon. And apparently he thinks highly of you. Let us start with going over the list of people who have seen Jonathan the last hours of his life. Than we can reconstruct his day."

He went through the file, his arms lifting up and down when Pieter could not avoid bumping into a pot-hole."

"If your ability to think is as good as your ability to drive, than I will prefer to work alone after all. At least it will be a lot healthier."

Pieter did not answer and drove deliberately in a deep pit making the suspension crack dangerously. Abdi heaved a sigh in disbelief.

"After the meeting with Ian in which he was informed about his new role, Jonathan left the hotel. A patrol car was waiting for him, driven by a Randy Gonzales. He brought Jonathan to his first appointment, with Vladimir Tikhonova. He is one of Ian's right hands. According to Randy's testimony that meeting lasted for about an hour and then they made their way to the head office where Jonathan had a lunch meeting with his staff. That is where he got a call from Jonathan to say that he was going to spend the whole afternoon with his team and to pick him up at six. Yet, after the lunch the receptionists claimed that they have seen Jonathan walking outside and getting into a car."

"Signal mobile phone?"

"No, no signal since he left the hotel. The receptionist remembered that Jonathan asked for a charger for his mobile phone. Apparently he had misplaced his charger and the battery was dead."

Pieter shook his head: "that is not fitting Jonathan's profile. He might have had a dislike for administration but he was a maniac when it concerned his mobile phone. He was one of those people who always wanted to be reachable. I remember that even on the flight he asked Karum whether there was a socket. At that time he had the charger in his hand."

"And was there a power outlet?"

"Yes. As far as I can remember Karum took care of it."

Pieter thought for a moment: "Was there a signal when we landed?"

Abdi searched through his papers. "Yes, the signal disappeared from the one and only cell in Abacus at exactly five twenty three yesterday morning."

Abdi went silent for a moment: "We did find his mobile in one of his trousers. It was switched off. There was nothing weird about it. All calls had been made from Diego Garcia and the last roaming came from the Maldives. He has not used the phone ever since the moment he landed here. And then it switched off."

"Switched off after a whole night of charging in an airplane? No, I don't believe that."

"He might have switched it off manually. There is an off button you know."

"At that hour? A bizarre time to switch off your phone. Knowing Jonathan he probably had gone to bed on time to make sure he did not miss the meeting with Ian. And furthermore, he had a breakfast appointment with Oona. One more reason not to oversleep. But that was a word not in Jonathan's dictionary."

"Did he have something going on with Oona De la Fayette?"

"No certainly not. I am sure about that."

"And how can you be so sure?"

"Well, I cannot. I just know it, I have no clue why. No, they did not have a thing going on. I suspect that Oona was seeing another guy, a Bruno Castellini. But it could not have been that serious since she is here alone."

Abdi seemed to doze off over his papers when he suddenly put out his hand and shouted: "turn here! Let's pay Kik a visit."

Startled Pieter steered the car away from the road and they drove in a dust cloud over the savannah, from time to time tearing away the solitary bushes. To his surprise they suddenly arrived at a large fence. Behind the fence he could see a large grass field surrounding an impressive farm house. The gate was guarded by three men wearing the uniform of a private security firm. When they saw Abdi's head appearing through the window, they hurried to open the gate. Abdi nodded friendly to the three men as they drove up to the estate.

"So this is Kik's modest shed?" Pieter asked.

He did not have to wait long for an answer. Kik was already rushing out of the house. With open legs and arms in fists at his hips he stopped waiting for the car to come closer.

Kik did not make it into a secret that he was not pleased with the unannounced visit. Even before they stepped out of the car he already was shouting: "Abdi. Still no arrests?"

"Mister Von Wielligh," Abdi answered cleverly, "was it not an unlucky accident with your sweet little cows? At least that was yesterday's testimony if I can believe my own notes. Can we come in? I would like to cover a couple of points with you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He turned around and went ahead of his visitors into the house and took a seat on the large covered patio. The ebony furniture was rough and hand made. The wooden deck gave a panoramic view over the vast savannah. At the horizon Pieter thought he saw some giraffes searching for high trees and their foliage. A slim woman in colourful, European, clothes and decorated with numerous bracelets, came swinging to the men and served without asking each a cup of tea.

Kik looked at Pieter.

"So you are present also. Who were you again?"

A bit disturbed he answered: "My name is Pieter Van Dyck. I help Mister Abdi with his investigation."

"More people looking over the shoulder, just what we need. I have recently told Ian again that he has to stop running his project as a consultant. We need entrepreneurs now. Abacus is full of theorists and I cannot even find one person who has ever milked a cow."

Abdi placed the cup carefully back on the table. The small tick was enough for the woman, who had moved away to the other side of the patio, to stand up and replenish his cup.

The men drank in silence. The heat was physically present and a soft breeze created mini whirlwinds tossing up dust, leaves and small branches. Pieter looked in fascination to this little spectacle.

Suddenly Kik said: "it will soon rain. It's about time."

Abdi nodded in agreement: "we can certainly use some good rain. It has been very, very dry till now."

Pieter examined the clear blue sky. Apart from the breeze there were neither clouds nor anything else that indicated a forthcoming weather change. The two gentlemen probably felt it in their knees or other worn out joints.

Abdi put the box that he had taken with him from the office on his lap. He drummed with his fingers on the lid and passed it on to Kik.

"It is your revolver. Our analysis confirmed your testimony that you have not used the weapon for weeks, if not for months."

"Of course not, Abdi. You know very well that I carry this thing out of folklore. And just a little bit as a sign that I am not to be fooled with. Did you really believe that I would bet my life on a piece of iron that is over a century old? I don't think so."

He put his heavy booth on the table and rolled up his cotton trousers. On his muscled calve a pistol was attached that smoothly slid out a special holster. Kik removed the magazine from the grip and opened the bullet chamber by pulling the slide. With the opened slide he put the gun on the table and gave the magazine to Abdi.

"This is the one I depend on and you may examine it also. Shot a cobra with it yesterday, it is very precise."

Abdi did not even bother to look.

"I cannot explain the shell that was found near Jonathan's last place. It does point loud and clear into your direction and your weapon's."

Abdi fiddled out of the file another piece of paper. "This is the analysis of the shell. Your fingerprint is very prominent on the shell."

Kik was amused: "someone believes that I am a real idiot."

"Or someone plays games because that someone knows that every single trace will be investigated," Pieter interfered, "if one creates enough dead end traces, the investigators will get lost and loose valuable time."

"Do you know anyone who has a similar weapon?" Abdi continued.

Kik shook his head. "There is no doubt that it is one of my shells. I have them made especially for me in England and I assemble the bullets myself. Shells are easy to import. Bullets have the tendency to disappear when coming into the country."

"So who has been in your house and had access to bullets or shells?" Pieter wondered.

"That's a difficult one to answer. A bunch of people come and go in this house every day. Tens of them, easily. People from the farm, my security staff or Ranja's family." He pointed at the woman. "But than again. All is behind locks. Let me show you."

They stood up and went to his office. From his pocket he pulled a bunch of keys, searched for a particular one and unlocked the door to a small, windowless, workshop. There were cupboards with different guns and rifles. Some shields and spears in flashy colours hung against the walls. A work bench containing precision tooling stood in the middle of the room, leaving about a meter around to manoeuvre.

"This is where I make my own stuff and experiment with new kinds of ammunition. As Abdi knows I am a rather keen hunter for big game. Especially crocodiles are not my best friends. The robots have difficulties in detecting them. In that case, nothing beats a good old fashioned patrol."

Pieter took some of the lead bullets with different points. "Do you also make full metal jackets?"

"No, that is too difficult. You really need other tools than a mould and a burner. And why would I need it? A lead bullet penetrates the armoured skin of a crock and I _know_ that there will be no chance for survival. A full metal jacket may have a higher penetration power, but will just make a small hole and the crock will still angrily attack me. And that is something that I don't really like. No, I need unfaltering stopping power."

Abdi looked through the enforced glass of one of the closets. "When is the last time you went on a safari or hunt. And who was there also?"

"That must have been a week ago? Yes, some new people from Ian's staff had arrived and they wanted to organise a safari before work caught up with them again."

"What kind of ammunition do you normally use at a safari like that?"

"Depends, mostly a mixture. Point thirty eight, point forty. Even point nine if we want to shoot birds."

"Also the same calibre as your revolver?"

"Similar, yes. Can I have a look at that shell you found?"

Abdi pulled up the small plastic bag again. Kik checked it from all sides: "what I suspected. This is not the ammunition of my Webley."

He opened a drawer in the workbench and tipped over a box of bullets. Randomly he picked one and gave it to Abdi. "You see the collar here? It is thinner for the Webley. I need to slice the collar slightly to make them fit into the cylinder. The other bullets have a somewhat thicker collar and are used for these guns." Kik searched for another key and opened one of the closets. He threw a heavy looking rifle at Pieter who grasped for breath when the weapon hit his chest.

"Here catch. That's one to stop elephants, hippo's, buffalo and rhino. Animal is dead before it hits the ground."

Abdi looked at Pieter. "You might be right. Now we not only have additional weapons to check. We also have received a whole lot of new suspects whom we need to interrogate. And that all because of a shell that we cannot place."

He addressed Kik: "can you provide me with the names of the people present at your last safari?"

"Sure. I never thought this admin shit would come in handy." He rummaged in another drawer and opened a pile of papers that were tied together with a piece of string. "Let me have a look, that list must be on top of this pile. Yes, here it is. It contains signatures and everything."

Kik handed over a crumpled up piece of paper with about fifteen names and their signatures beside them.

"It is the accident waiver. Standard process. But I need to have my paperwork done for our administrative mill, right, Mister Abdi?"

Abdi pulled a face in agreement, "it has indeed become a true paper mill. But since each year a dozen of trigger happy tourists shoot each other, we need to be covered towards their embassies who still believe we are a bunch of savages."

Meanwhile his eyes flashed over the names, humming with surprise and pulling up his eye brows.

"Interesting companions you had that day, Mister Von Wielligh. We will no longer keep you. Thanks for your time and hospitality. Say hello to Ranja and don't forget to tell her that her tea is still the best in Somalia."

"Don't we need to confiscate those weapons?" Pieter asked as they stepped outside.

"No, that will not be necessary. Let us now quickly go to the hotel. That tea has wetted my appetite and I am already looking forward to one of those delicious lunches."

Back on the main road, Pieter pulled out his mobile phone from his shirt pocket and checked the signal. The four little boxes confirmed that he was within reach of the powerful antenna of Abacus. He put the mobile to his ear.

Abdi looked up from the list with names and wiggled his finger in alarm. "It is not because we are here in Africa that there are no traffic rules. You are not allowed to drive and be on the telephone at the same time. I will have to fine you. And I must warn you, those fines are serious." He took a small book and licked his pencil.

Under protest Pieter produced his hands-free adapter and plugged the small microphone in his ear.

"Hi Oona, this is Pieter. Where are you now?"

"Hi Pieter. I am with Doctor Kitwaela in the lab. We have improvised as good as possible to examine some tissue samples for traces of lead, burns or gunpowder. All results are negative. I think we can conclude with a high level of certainly that Jonathan has not been shot. And that it must have been a tragic accident."

"Thanks. That's all I wanted to know. But I don't agree with your last conclusion."

He pushed the phone off. "Doctor Kitwaela's report has been confirmed by Oona de La Fayette. No traces of bullets."

Abdi nodded: "that is also the reason why we did not need to confiscate Kik's small army. The shell had been used a couple of days ago. And I have to be very mistaken if the name of the murderer is not staring at me from this piece of paper."

He tapped confidently on the list, made himself comfortable in the humming car and dozed off.

Pieter parked the car in front of the hotel and shook Abdi awake. He opened his eyes that immediately turned sharp. "Ha, lunch. What a powernap can do for an old man. I suggest you adopt the same habit, Pieter. You will feel younger. You may even be considered as a good match by our African women."

Although it was still early, some families with small children had already taken place in the restaurant. Pieter and Abdi took the same corner from Pieter's last night solitary dinner. The same waiter came with the menu; he greeted cordially Abdi who inquired who the chef was today.

"It is Mister Guido, Mister Abdi."

"Aha, Guido Lacroix," Abdi exclaimed enthusiastically. "Very well, my good man. Tell Mister Guido that Mister Abdi is here and would commit murder to taste his famous grilled Tilapia. And you may bring me a glass of your dry white wine."

"You can double that order, will make life easier for you," Pieter added.

"Back to our case," Abdi said hawkishly. "Here we have fifteen names. And it includes some interesting ones...."

"Cabdikarum Sucri, our good Doctor Kitwaela, Vince Smith,..."

"Who is Vince Smith?" Pieter asked.

"He is Francesca Venti's boy friend, I think you have actually seen him yesterday at the border. He had service that day."

"A big guy with a dark full beard?"

"Precisely, that is him. Than there is Robert Holden. He was the former head of security. It was well known that he would leave within the week. So for him it might have been a kind of a _farewell party_. Smith was always in the neighbourhood of Holden. It was for everyone obvious that he wanted to succeed him. And I cannot blame him. Smith has worked to get promoted for more than four years and someone from a god forgotten island is bumped above you and shatters your dream."

Pieter looked sideways at the list: "who is Marsha King?"

"Marscha King is Vladimir Tikhonova's personal assistant. She arrived a couple of days before. Probably to arrange a couple of things before Vladimir's arrival. He has a rather big ego. On the other hand he is one of the driving forces behind Abacus."

A loud, deep voice vibrated from the restaurant. "Welcome, welcome again, Mister Abdi. It is my honour to have you here again. It's good to see you in such a good health. I have prepared especially for you my Tilapia à _la façon du chef_.

With a theatrical gesture he placed the two plates in front of Pieter and Abdi. Irritated he snapped his fingers to the two waiters in his wake to make them pour the wine faster and serve a series of additional dishes, salads and sauces.

Abdi clapped his hands like a happy child and complimented the chef in his local language. The cook replied in the same language, accepted the compliments humbly and returned, bowing backwards, to the kitchen.

Abdi sniffed at his dish and visibly enjoyed the mixture of aromas. "I have a tremendous admiration for people who at least attempt to learn our language and in the meantime can create such great food."

"Next person?" Pieter asked, ignoring deliberately the hint.

"That would be Jan Von Wielligh, Kik's brother. And below him is...." he tasted loudly from the grilled fish. "This is an absolute delicacy."

Abdi started all over again: "below Jan Von Wielligh stands, interesting, Randy Gonzales. The driver who toured Jonathan around that day. Than there is Rick Steward, a doctor in quantum physics. Niels Pedersen is one of the new engineers on the farm. Sia Pedersen-Stockholm is his wife, if I am not mistaken. Mario Delprez works as a bio-mechanical engineer on the water purification and production. Holger Bein leads the research team to optimize batteries in the energy research centre. Kasper Grotto is a well known researcher on laser applications. Don't ask me too much about it, I did not understand a lot about it. And look, our good chef was there too. We might grill him later."

Abdi laughed loudly with his own joke: "grill, you get it? Anyway, I would like to have another glass of white wine."

He beckoned the waiter who topped up his glass.

"Why don't you read further, Pieter. I want to enjoy this good food."

"And drinks," Pieter thought. He continued aloud: "the next on the list is Doran Szappanova."

"The little Doran. A programmer at the computer headquarters."

"The last but one is Emma Vandenbergh."

"A Dutch nurse. Apparently she is good friends with Doctor Kitwaela.

"And finally the last one is Gordon McNeal."

"We stay in medical circles. He is the assistant of Kitwaela. I did not realize that those doctors and nurses were that blood thirsty. I hope to stay out of their hands for a while."

Again he laughed with his own remark.

"A pretty extensive list of possible suspects. I suggest we spend the afternoon to trace them and talk to them."

"The question is how and where we can find these people."

"That should not be a problem."

Abdi produced a smartphone from his pocket and after a couple of minutes, during which his reading glasses went up and down, he looked contently at the display. "Abacus has its own white pages on line. You can find everyone. So, you can start."

He passed the telephone on to Pieter and continued peacefully with his meal, only interrupted by some approving little noises.

Guido came back to check whether all was according to their wishes. Pieter invited him to take place at their table.

"Have you already heard about the accident with Jonathan Stratford?" Pieter asked.

"Who hasn't? Everyone is talking about it. This is like a small village, news travels very fast."

He leaned forward to Abdi and Pieter: "the rumour goes that he has been murdered. I assume that is the reason why you are digging into this case, right?"

"That is indeed the case, my dear friend. But we first have to find out whether he has been murdered or whether he is the victim of an unfortunate accident. That still remains to be seen. In each case, we want to talk to all of the people on this list."

Curiously Guido peeked at the list. "I recognize that piece of paper. It is the mandatory waiver when you go on a safari with Kik. He calls it his alibi in case one of use gets devoured by a lion. But why exactly that list? I don't see the connection and should I be worried?"

"We have found a shell close to the place where Jonathan got trampled. That shell has been put there to direct us into Kik's direction because he is the only one with this kind of bullets. The shell does not fit his revolver but does fit in a couple of his rifles that have been used during the hunt that day."

"Kik is a lout. An unmannered _boer_ , but he certainly would not kill anyone. Give someone a good beating, yes."

"Did you notice anything special during that safari?"

"It was a very pleasant party, I remember that. At the end we have all come together in Kik's ranch. I have cooked together with Ranja. She is a very good cook, I have to say."

Guido stared beside Pieter and Abdi. It was not clear whether he was still thinking about the question or he was mentally again enjoying Ranja's cooking art.

"Nothing out of the ordinary comes to my mind. We had a fantastic day; everyone had the opportunity to shoot. Even with the heavy calibres. I recall that Marsha had a painful shoulder because of the recoil. She handled the weapon quite clumsily but on the other hand she was the one who shot a buffalo. She was very proud of herself. But also Sia and the nurse, I cannot remember her name, have been shooting. I have deboned the buffalo on the spot and returned to Kik's house to prepare it for that evening. I did not want to have it covered under the flies. So I filled the ice boxes and returned with one of the jeeps."

"Anything else?" Abdi continued to drill down.

"Kik had brought some spears and we organised a little competition. Precision and distance."

"And who won?" Pieter asked.

"That is quite easy to guess, Doctor Kitwaela of course. Kik was not too pleased with the result because he is always the one claiming that he can kill an animal like the Masai and that he does not need a gun. He took it personally and it lead that evening to a hefty discussion after Kik had a whiskey too much. Kitwaela left the party after that. That was the only incident, if one can call it an incident, that day. Look, there they are."

Abdi and Pieter saw Oona and Kitwaela making their way to the terrace via the swimming pool. Abdi put his hand in the air to invite them to the table.

"If it continues like this than we don't even have to go on the road to talk to the people. They all come to us spontaneously," Abdi remarked.

Guido shook the hand of Kitwaela and kissed courteously the one from Oona. Pieter had to agree that she had gradually changed while being here. The stern military appearance of her tightly knotted hair had made place for free hanging dark curls. With difficulty Guido tore himself away from her hand and disappeared again in the kitchen, but not without insisting that she should come back often. The waiter arrived as usual with the menu.

"Dr. Kitwaela, we have a couple of questions for you. More specifically about the safari you attended some weeks ago. I understood that your evening ended in a minor key?"

"Minor may be a bit exaggerated. Kik started to behave a bit unpleasantly and I decided to leave and go back home. The next day I had surgery scheduled, so I could do with an early evening. He was drunk, that's all. And than his frustrations appear to the surface."

"Where were you yesterday between ten AM and two PM?"

"I must have been at the airport. A patient was flown in and I had to collect him."

"And that took four hours?"

"The plane had an unexpected delay. Something with the landing gear. The tower for one or another reason was not aware of that. Sometimes their communication is really bad."

"Were you with someone else?"

"I was there with the ambulance driver, Jason Blond. We cleaned up the small infirmary at the airport and did some paperwork."

"Are you aware that Oona tried to call you several times?"

"In the meantime yes. I had left my mobile phone at home and only picked up my messages that evening."

"A bit strange for a doctor who needs to be available all the time to forget his mobile."

"Well, I was not the doctor on call. Besides that, we have our own internal communication system in case of an emergency. It works alongside GSM so we are not dependent on it." He showed Pieter the small device attached to his belt.

"She also talked to Gordon who promised to pass the message. Would he not have used that beeper to alert you?"

"The process is that we only use the _beeper_ as you call it, in real emergencies. Confirming or forgetting a meeting does not reside under the emergencies."

"Coming back to the incident with Kik that evening. Maybe you were looking for revenge to let the anger out?" Pieter asked.

Kitwaele looked puzzled at Pieter and tried to find support with Abdi. The latter explained: "we still have no clue why and how that shell got in the meadow. That is why Pieter has been nagging all along about a shot wound."

"So how should I ever get that shell over there?"

"We are talking to everyone. Maybe Gordon has placed it there?"

"Gordon may from time to time act strangely, but I vouch for my team's reliability." Kitwaele was clearly getting emotional.

"Did you know that Gordon and Emma have something going on?"

Kitwaela looked surprised: "no, I did not know that and honestly I doubt it."

Abdi laughed, "Well, now you know it and please no longer doubt it. You see, everyone has their little secrets. But good for now, we need to get going urgently. _Bon appetit_. Guido's grilled tilapia is a small wonder of the world. So is the white wine."

He jumped up and paced to the lobby. Pieter tried to follow him: "who is next in line to interrogate?"

"Vince Smith. He is high on the list of suspects." Abdi answered. "You know, maybe it is better if I stay here." Abdi pointed towards the darkening sky. "We will be in the middle of a shower. I suggest that you seek out Vince. In the meantime I will check whether Marsha King is available."

A sharply aligned bolt followed by a rattling thunderclap announced a curtain of rain. Pieter saw how Oona and Kitwaela quickly picked up their plates and fled inside.

"How did you know about Gordon and Emma?"

"Pure coincidence. A couple of days ago I was in the hospital with my grandchildren for their inoculations. I just happened to be on the right place at the right moment and saw Gordon and Emma in a posture that was difficult to misinterpret. A bit of luck in my business never hurts. So let me see what miss King has to say. Send me your report tonight. Here is my card with my e-mail."

Pieter took the card. "Oh yes, before I forget," Abdi continued, "here is your fine for driving and calling at the same time. On the back you will find instructions how to transfer the money."

* * *

Chapter 34

The guard at the entrance nibbled languidly at his apple when Pieter entered the building, soaking wet, and asked for Vince Smith. The man pointed, dripping apple in his hand, towards the stairs saying: "second floor. Third door to your right. I will inform him that you are here. He is expecting you."

The corridor was shielded by a transparent roof through which Pieter could see the dark sky from which the last half hour the rain had been pouring down continuously. He combed his wet hair with his fingers, knocked and entered the room.

Vince Smith was, to put it short, a _man_. Broad, muscled, square, tanned. Everything was dark with the man. His eyes, his short trimmed beard, his face. He stood up from his desk and gave Pieter a firm handshake. Pieter tried not to show the pain as his metacarpals cracked.

"I have been informed about your round with Abdi. Let me immediately and formally declare that I have nothing to do with it. Not even because he had stolen my job. And no, I will not kill Bramaud now that in his turn he is stealing my promotion. By the way, where is Abdi?

"He is questioning Marsha King at this very moment. He did not like to walk through the rain."

"That old fox. I can imagine he prefers miss King. She is a real beauty. Apparently both Ian and Vladimir have a very good taste when it comes to their PA's. But alright, the fact that he does not interrogate me personally is already a good sign. It means that he does not suspect me."

"Oh really? What makes you so sure? And what if _I_ suspect you?" Pieter really felt insulted by Vince's reaction, making him feel like a second grade rookie.

Not at all under the impression, Smith answered: "I know Abdi long enough. According to me he already has his own shortlist of possible perpetrators and a working theory that he is now testing."

"And do you have a working theory?"

"I have suspicions. What happened yesterday is not an isolated fact. The past weeks a number of things occurred that could be interpreted as the prologue to Stratford's death."

Pieter felt that his trip to Vince could be very worthwhile, regardless what Abdi might think. "What kind of things?"

"First of all we found an information leak. During the installation and start-up of our most recent computer systems someone must have installed a number of _bots_ that transmitted at irregular intervals information to the outside world. We removed those bots but a couple of hours later they had been installed again in other parts of the system. When we close one leak, two others appear somewhere else. And they become more and more difficult to trace. All points at a combination of external hackers with internal access or help. When those two work together, you have a security nightmare. Judged by the quality of their work, you can almost claim that we are dealing with _military grade hackers_. The most professional level. The special forces of the cyber combat field."

Pieter decided to interrupt before Vince became too lyrical about his enemy. "So what kind of information is at stake and who might show an interest? After all, this is a development project. On a large scale, nevertheless, it is only development aid."

"You point it out correctly: on a large scale. Here in the labs and the research centres, in all peace and quiet, highly advanced technologies are developed. Much of it is basic research on which the outside world no longer spends money. This goes beyond some new irrigation systems or ethical genetics. Here new applications are developed for laser energy, notably _deep sensors_. I think you even have personal experience with it, your own encounter with the robot yesterday. But the applications range from defence systems to deep space research. There have been breakthroughs in alternative energy sources, new transportation systems. A lot of what is being developed and tested here has a high commercial value, not to speak about the military interests. And with the situation outside, what is happening here inside, all of a sudden has become very interesting for someone who wants to make a fast buck."

"And you think that Stratford's predecessor has something to do with it?"

"The suspicion has always been there. That is why Ian and Vladimir decided to send him back. And I know that is not the official party line. We have never been able to prove anything. But it was remarkable that he got on the plane without one word of protest and that he is now living royally in Brazil. That is also why Ian wanted to have one of his men to dig to the bottom. Enters Jonathan."

"What is the exact role of Vladimir?"

"Ian trusts upon Vladimir everything that has to do with security. For some obscure reason Ian is convinced that Vladimir with his Russian background has a second nature for it."

"Do you know what information has been stolen?"

"Not everything, but we have been able to trace back content: drawings and software code of the security robots. Look, we are dealing with an organised team and Jonathan's arrival as head of security upset their plans. And that is why he had to disappear. And fast, very fast. Before he even could smell or touch the systems and be more cautious."

"Ian surely must have informed him about all of the dangers?"

Vince held his hands in the air, almost in despair. "One would assume that, indeed. But I think that Ian did not grasp or believe the impact of the breach. Sometimes he can be a bit naive."

Pieter looked at Vince: "naive? Maybe I am but Ian certainly is not."

"We all have our _blind spots_ , Pieter. And that includes Ian. And his is trust. Sometimes I believe he is so used that people do what he tells them to do, that he does not even dream of it that they have a hidden agenda to manipulate him. When Jonathan came here yesterday for the team briefing, it was clear that Ian had not informed him about all what is playing behind the scenes. We briefed him thoroughly."

Vince placed a neatly bound presentation binder in front of Pieter. "That was the presentation given to him yesterday. Current status, next steps, required resources. You can have it. It is no secret. And I don't want it to be a secret. We are dealing with a sophisticated group that does not stop for anything."

"Coming back to Jonathan. After the briefing, he was called away. How did that exactly go?"

"Just after the briefing, we were just starting a short tour of the different departments; I received a phone call for him. Apparently he had not charged his mobile phone or so."

"And who called?"

"Iveta, Ian's PA. She said that Ian had forgotten to tell him something and that he wanted to talk in person to Jonathan. Upon that call he left right away. We thought he went back to the hotel, but apparently that was not the case."

Vince stood up, "to end I want you to see something. It would have been part of Jonathan's tour also."

They went back to the corridor where Vince stopped at the elevator doors. He put his badge on the reader and typed an eight digit code. The lift went down into the cellar of the building. Pieter suspected that the buildings in Abacus were deeper under the ground than above.

Vince noticed the look in Pieter's eyes. "From this building you literally see the tip of the iceberg. It is quite unique in Abacus. Here, in the concrete cellars, we have duplicated all systems in case something goes wrong upstairs."

They left the elevator and walked through a brightly lit corridor that separated an open space with glass cubicles. "The man who invented the cubicle, even in glass, must have been a socialist idiot," Pieter thought. Vince showed him the way to a large workshop where some of the security robots stood aligned. Some of them were completely dismantled; others were connected to diagnostic equipment. It made Pieter think of a maintenance garage for high-end toys.

He recognized one of the men as the system engineer from the farm who had been sent away by Kik.

"Vince, that man over there, he was on the farm yesterday when it all happened."

"That must have been Paul. He checks and repairs, when needed, the robots on site. If they are beyond repair, than he brings them over here. Sometimes I believe he likes them more than his own children."

He called Paul who warily approached, looking suspiciously at Pieter.

"Paul, can you explain to Pieter what you have detected in the robots?"

The man was nervous and started to stammer a bit. "Well, somehow there has been tampered with the robots. No wonder that so many of them break down."

"What do you mean with tampered?" Pieter tried to help the man to organise his thoughts.

"Well, some of them are running again on the old software. That is why they are less stable than when running on the current version ten dot three dot five."

"And what do you exactly mean with stable?

"Well, we did a lot of research on how to chase away predators without also startling the cattle. Finally we decided to use high pitched tones that those predators don't really appreciate but cannot or hardly be heard by humans or cattle. You can compare it with a dog whistle. Or those ultra-sonic poles you put in the ground to get rid of moles in your garden. Although the latter never really worked properly with me. I think those moles were as insensitive to ..."

Vince interrupted him: "stay with the story, Paul. The software?"

"Well, we noticed that some of the robots were turned back to version six point one. That is the version of almost one year ago. It also means that someone has gained access to the automatic upload and synchronisation system. Because the diagnostic tools confirm it is the latest version, even if it isn't. Just because one of the robots had some physical damage and was brought in that we have found out. So someone is very elaborately hacking into the system and is very good at covering up his trail."

"But what is the difference between those two versions, apart from stability?"

"Well," Paul started. Pieter began to dislike the man's tic to start each sentence with well. "The artificial intelligence to recognize and interpret forms and objects from the previous version is far less developed. For instance it cannot see the difference between a zebra and a tiger."

"And human and tiger?" Pieter asked.

"Well, only the first steps. With a lot of _false positives and false negatives_.

"I am sure there is a full spec list of the differences between the two versions?"

The man looked embarrassed. "Not immediately. In those early days we did not document too many things. We were programming in the field. Experimenting. But I can draft something up for you quickly. It is all in my head."

"Yes please. And the robots who were in the neighbourhood of Jonathan yesterday, what version did they run on?"

"Well, those are the ones that are standing here. I have quickly rewritten the diagnostic's software and brought the robots in here. All of them had been affected by the old software."

"So the robot that approached me yesterday also had the old software?"

"Yes. Actually it was that one." He pointed at one of the robots standing with cables connected.

"But it stopped nicely when I got straight and it recognized me as a human being."

"Well, you were close and the AI will have worked from that distance. But if you would have remained stooped, than the robot would have interpreted you as a threat. With unpleasant results."

"I still don't get it why someone is interested in defence robots." Pieter questioned.

Vince took the question. "It is the purpose that once they function properly, the robots will be switched from defensive to offensive. That is only a small step and the software contains all the necessary links and databases. The mechanical aspects of the robots are all tested and approved. So you can image that someone envisages an army of robots and can sell this for a lot of money."

Paul claimed in triumph: "we have learned our lesson. I am in the process of reprogramming them all and building into them an advanced security. They will no longer be hack-able."

"Not the coming days," Pieter remarked. "Someone will break it."

Paul looked a bit crestfallen now that Pieter did not show any trust in his recent improvements. He was just about to explain in detail what the new security consisted of, but Vince told him to be silent. "Paul, why don't you start to work on that spec list and ensure that Pieter and I have it by tonight?"

Paul stammered a bit more. Spitting some of the saliva that had formed small white speckles on his lower lip. "Well, well, I will."

Vince accompanied Pieter till the exit door. The bad weather had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Pieter saw again people driving their segways between the buildings. He looked up and saw different cameras hanging. "How did Jonathan leave here? He had informed his driver that he was no longer needed till six o'clock."

Vince addressed the guard at the reception and asked the schedule of yesterday. The man swivelled the display to Vince. "It was Rob Dango who was sitting here. Let me try to reach him for you, sir."

Pieter was walking outside to admire the immense rainbow that seemed to bridge the whole of Abacus. The rain had darkened the streets but the sun started to shine with all of her power. Over the rain puddles the water evaporated quickly, leaving a low strain of fog. Vince joined him after he had talked to Rob.

"According to Rob, Jonathan left in a hurry towards a car waiting at the other side of the street. It was a standard car without any specific marks."

Pieter pointed at the cameras covering the area. "That is good news. Those high definition cameras must have recorded that car so we can find via the registration system who made the reservation." He was excited that some parts of the puzzle fell together and he could not wait to outdo Abdi.

Vince pinched his flush of victory: "that exact moment the whole video surveillance system was being rebooted after a period of maintenance. There are no images."

* * *

Chapter 35

Pieter had just completed his report to Abdi when a message appeared on his telephone's screen.

Tonight dinner with parents. I pick you up @8. Miss you. Kisses. Jane.

It did not make him any merrier. Actually he wanted to postpone or even cancel this moment all together. But he knew that with Jane things would move fast. He had to admit she was a woman of action, not trailing behind nor wasting time. But a dinner with her parents was not exactly fun for him. For a moment he was tempted to come up with the lame excuse that he was fully occupied with the case.

Minutes to eight he paced up and down the lobby. With some envy he looked at a group of noisy people in the bar, apparently celebrating something. One of the men caught sight of Pieter and with a bewildered look made his way to him. His eyes were bloodshot and he tried to grab Pieter by the arm. He pulled himself back and tried to ignore the intoxicated man.

"You don't know who I am, hey? But I know who you are. You dirty sneaky old Casanova. You don't now it, hey?" The man droned on and on.

Pieter tried to remember where he had seen him before. When he used the word Casanova, he remembered. The drunken man was Brian, Jane's recent ex.

"Yes, I know who you are. A dumb brute who molests women. Not very honourable. And the way you look now, you're only making it worse."

"You have taken away Jane from me!" the man bellowed. Some people in the lobby pretended not to see anything and hurried away. "So much for solidarity in this place," Pieter thought.

"Why don't you sleep off your hangover somewhere?" Pieter suggested and turned away to step outside. Brian was not inclined to let his prey escape. A woman from the group came next to Brian and started to incite him. "You let him go like that, Brian? Hell, he has taken away your wife, God dammed."

Brian made another move at Pieter and grabbed him by the shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip. The man was taller and heavier than Pieter, but the latter sober and thus faster. Pieter broke away as he was about to exit the hotel and saw a car ramping up the drive way, most likely Jane. A sudden push from Brian made him almost lose his equilibrium.

"You weak old little man," Brian yelled.

"For the last time, leave me alone. You are embarrassing yourself."

"Only if you stay away from Jane so she comes back to me."

"The chance that will happen is nil."

Brian took another swing with his fist but missed Pieter completely.

"You are really pathetic, Brian. You can beat a woman but you can only stand up to a man when you are drunk."

The woman looked puzzled: "what is he talking about?"

"Leave me alone," Brian answered who gave it another try to hit Pieter. This time with more success and the latter received a painful blow on the shoulder.

Exultantly Brian blocked the exit in front of Pieter. The woman who had previously supported Brian was visibly trying to arrange her thoughts in a nebula of alcohol.

"Who did you hit? Jane?" she shouted from a coach in the lobby.

"Leave me alone I said," Brian repeated angrily. He swayed on his legs and for the third time took a swing at him. Pieter dived under the arm of his attacker and decided that this was the last attempt he would allow.

Coming out of his dive behind a confused Brian, he aimed his fist at his bewildered face. He did not even hit him hard but the effect was immediate. With a painful grimace Brian sank on his knees, blood trickling from his nose and mouth corner. In seconds his face was covered in blood, making the injuries look worse than they really were. Some of his drunken friends had come out of the bar.

Without even looking Pieter stepped outside, just in time to get into Jane's car.

Jane looked curiously through the glass door at the scene in the lobby. "Something I missed? What happened?"

"Nothing special, my dear. Just some warming up for the rest of the evening."

She gave him a dubious look but decided to tell him all about her day.

Iveta had introduced Jane to the team of translators but soon after noon she had been so bored that she had ran away. "I cannot recall ever to have yawned that long and often. The ongoing discussions and reflections of the political character of Abacus were so exciting that I actually fell asleep. Thank God I was able to reach Iveta again and we have found a job that is much more fun. I am now teaching English in the first grade It was really nice. Fantastic classes and interested pupils. Did you know that some of the pupils actually are two hours on the road to even get to the school? And guess who is sitting in my class?"

"Jackie?"

"Haha, very funny. No, Mister Abdi's grandchildren. So how was your day? Oh, we are already at my parents' place. Maybe things will be a bit chaotic, they just moved today to this house. But I went shopping with my mother so at least we'll have some food."

Desperately Pieter grabbed this ultimate opening: "in that case it may be better to do this later? I don't want to create an even bigger chaos. And these people probably have other things on their mind than to see their daughter's suitor."

In his mind he added: "and have a father-examination."

"But of course not, you silly. They are really looking forward to see you. And really, this is not like exactly bringing my first boy friend home."

"No? Than why does it feel like that anyway?" Pieter wondered.

Jackie threw the door wildly open en jumped on Pieter.

"Easy sister," Jane threatened, "find your own toy."

"Toy?" Pieter whispered following Jane into the house.

"You prefer I call you gramps?" she teased him.

The encounter with Jane's parents went as Pieter had feared. The mother had been very cordial, the father coldly reserved. "Regardless how old the daughter is, the father remains the watchdog," he realized. Fortunately the bickering and chattering of Jane and Jackie ensured enough animation around the table. After the dinner they went to the patio to enjoy the warm outside air.

Jane nestled herself in Pieter's arms. "I still cannot believe what we have gone through this week. It is like I am in a raft on a white river. And we may count ourselves amongst the luckiest people on earth. If you see what is going on in the world."

Ray Hutton added thoughtfully: "and it is just the beginning. Today the news was filled again with escalated violence. It does not look pretty. I am wondering what will happen to Abacus when it all really gets out of hand."

"It will not be that bad," misses Hutton tried to improve the mood, "there have been more crises in the world. I am sure that hundreds of people are now trying to find diplomatic solutions and all will be soothed again. Anyone coffee?"

Jane held Pieter tightly: "I am so happy to have met you. Who knows what would have become of me?"

"You would have been alright, you really don't need me for that," Pieter tried to put her remark in perspective..

"I am not so sure," Jane answered softly.

Jackie put her finger in her mouth and pretended to vomit. "Stop it, both of you. You make me sick with that lovebird babble. I will get that coffee."

Ray sighed. "The Indian and Chinese relations have come to a point of no return. They are blaming each other. The UN safety council broke up with a fight, can you imagine that? In Delhi and Beijing people are leaving the city centres out of fear that they will be bombed. The language between those two countries is muscled, to put it mildly. And other surrounding countries are being dragged into the conflict. China has already threatened Japan and Taiwan that they will annex them. In any case, I am glad that I am here. Also with you Pieter. And I want to thank you again for the good care that you gave my two daughters."

"Specifically the _personal_ good care for Jane," Jackie added coming back carrying a tray with cups and coffee.

"In any case," Ray continued, ignoring deliberately the last remark, "I am glad that you both have found each other and I hope to see a lot more of you. You are always welcome here."

"Thank you," was the only answer Pieter could come up with, but apparently nothing more was expected. He found that he had done it alright for the first encounter.

When Jane and Pieter went back to the car, they were startled by a loud shrieking noise. An unfriendly baboon with uncovered yellow teeth had been disturbed in his nap and ran away, screeching and sniffing. Frightened, Jane had yelled and trembled, laughing because of her own reaction and had started to sob quietly.

"I am so worried Pieter. About everything, the world around us. Maybe all of this will be over soon and we need to get back to Australia. It's been all too much. And than this whole thing with Jonathan. Ah well, I am so tired after this full day. I am not used to work anymore, that's probably it."

She smiled through her tears: "A good night sleep will do wonders. And don't you dare to keep me awake. I have to be in the school at eight and it is already past midnight."

But after staring for hours at the ceiling, Pieter stepped carefully out of the bed. He decided to run his mails in the small living room. He saw that Paul, as promised, had sent him the specification comparison. He opened the attached document and gasped when he saw the page count appear at the bottom of the file.

"Just under a hundred pages, thanks Paul."

He made up his mind to bite the bullet and tried to understand the details as much as possible. After some pages he frowned his forehead and mumbled: "that is it, now it makes sense."

He started a new message and began to type vehemently.

* * *

Chapter 36

Ian knotted his bathrobe and answered the nervous knocking on his door.

"What are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Pieter?" Ian asked in a bad temper.

He had only gone to bed around two in the morning and noticed it was now just past five. Even for him this was at the edge of decency.

"I wish you a very good morning also, Ian. I think that I have figured our how Jonathan got under that stampede. Or better, how the stampede was started. In any case, it is beyond doubt that he was not killed by a bullet."

"Tell me something that I don't yet know. Last night Abdi briefed me on the most recent report of Oona and Kitwaela. So it turns out to be an accident after all. By the way, was it not _you_ who made a fuss about shot wounds and bullets?"

"No, it was not an accident. The murder was constructed in a far more intricate manner."

"You have my attention. Although I cannot say that I am sharing your enthusiasm."

"Some of the security robots have been sabotaged by re-installing old software and obfuscate it as the most recent version. The normal scans did not pick this up. Only when a robot had to be repaired, the mechanics could find out whether or not the software had been tampered with."

"You will explain me why someone would do this?"

"That is what I was wondering too. Till last night. Jane yelled as crazy after she got frightened by a disturbed, shrieking baboon. That made me continue to ponder how the herd got frightened. That is why I was originally thinking of a shot, also because of the shell. But that didn't match with the unanimous testimony of the outside workers that they had not heard any noise while a shot with that calibre is heard miles away. Secondly there was the lab analysis that the shell had been fired about a week ago. Most likely during Kik's safari party. Conclusion, the herd had not been startled by a shot. In addition these big cows are used to people. When I was walking in the meadow they stepped friendly with me. Dripping saliva all over me. I even yelled _boo_ and clapped hard in my hands. No reaction. And then I screened the differences between the software versions. I found out that before they used ultrasonic to chase away the predators, they experimented with natural noises. You see, the latest version only supports ultrasonic. Those animals have a remarkably developed or retained instinct, so the idea was that they would flee from hearing the noise of their old natural enemies. Lion or puma. I suspect a puma because the noise a lion makes also resounds for miles."

"That is all very well," Ian reacted after he had been listening patiently, "but I fail to see the connections. Can you please come to the point?"

"I think I can partially explain the connections. Jonathan must have been dragged to that place. His stooped posture was interpreted by the robots as an animal like object and they were activated, just the same what happened to me. However, instead of producing ultrasound they started to roar like a predator. With the stampede as consequence."

"What part cannot be explained?"

"Why Jonathan interrupted his agenda, rushed out of the security centre and went to that meadow. To find that out, you can help me."

"How?"

"According to my information he was called by Iveta. Apparently you had forgotten to tell him something. That is when he went outside and stepped in a waiting car. Coincidentally the same time as the video surveillance system was rebooting after an unscheduled maintenance."

"Iveta? But no, she has been with me the whole time."

"The whole time? No interruptions?"

"Of course there were interruptions. Everyone needs at least a bio-break from time to time. But none of them that long that she could drive up and down to that farm. And, Pieter, you should know better. _I don't forget things in my briefings_."

"We will question Iveta today."

"That speaks for itself. This must be a mistake. I will call her immediately. Besides that, your theory shows quite some holes. That shell, just to name one. If someone goes through all the effort, even highly technical efforts, to make it look like an accident, than the offender will not leave a red-hot trace to make it look like a real murder? I am familiar with _reversed psychology_ , but _reversed reverse psychology_ is for me a bridge too far."

"Also for that I have a theory, but I need to check it first with Abdi."

Ian looked up while he was holding the phone next to his ear. "Involve also Bramaud in this whole case. He is now the new director of security. Hallo Iveta. Can you please come immediately to my room? It is urgent."

Ian's temper did not improve as he disconnected: "weird, she is not picking up. That is also the first time that this is happening since I know her."

"I think we will encounter more unexpected and strange things today, Ian."

"I don't like unexpected things, you know that Pieter. So please restrict your surprises to the absolute minimum. I will let you know when Iveta is here."

Pieter heard some noises from the bedroom. A woman appeared and stood next to Ian. "Pieter, may I introduce you to Lena? My wife. I was finally successful in convincing her and the children to be here with me. They arrived not one moment too soon."

He shook hands with Lena who remarked friendly: "I have already heard a lot about you, Mister Van Dyck. I am honoured to finally meet you in person. My apologies to disturb you, but I heard noises and I came to check whether everything was fine with Ian."

"No, no, actually I was just about to leave. I am sure we will meet each other again, a lot."

He got out of the room contemplating what to do next. He had left his watch in his room but guessed that it probably was close to six. A bit too early to call Abdi and discuss his findings.

The man behind the reception desk nodded tiredly when Pieter passed him on his way to the chilly garden. The smooth surface of the pool reflected the first sunrays, now and then interrupted by a ripple when an insect bounced against the water.

Pieter stretched himself on one of the deckchairs. The cry that came from one of the room balconies reminded him of the shrieking baboon. He looked up and saw two people pointing in panic at something in the pool. Pieter got up and tried to distinguish any details against the shimmering of the water.

He bent forward and saw between the waving light the body suspended at the bottom of the pool.

* * *

Chapter 37

It was past midday when Kitwaela entered to give his account. The small meeting room was completely filled. At the head of the table sat Ian, flanked by Iveta and Marsha. Kitwaele greeted Abdi, Pieter and Vince Smith. Some of the people he did not recognize. The eyes of Marsha were swollen and her normally tanned complexion was pale and faded. In expectation everyone looked at him silently. He decided not to beat about the bush.

"Vladimir was dead drunk. Which is strange. He stumbled, hit his head at the border of the pool, fell into the water and drowned. That is it."

"Another accident," Pieter remarked. "Not exactly a welcoming place here. Why is it strange? Do we know the time of death?" He lapsed into his bad habit asking several questions at the same time and than not knowing anymore what the first one was.

"Strange. Well...," Dr. Kitwaela looked at Ian who hardly noticeable shook his head. Only Pieter seemed to have seen in. "Not strange, I mean, considering the large amount of alcohol. According to my measurements, the time of death must have been around four or five o'clock. Actually it must have been not long before you have found him. When you dragged him out of the water, he had been dead for about an hour. There was nothing you could do."

With difficulty Pieter and some early risers had pulled out Vladimir's heavy body. They had taken turns in the desperate attempts to revive him, but in vain.

"Any connection with the murder on Jonathan?" asked one of the men whom he did not recognize. He looked at Abdi, who nodded that he could continue.

"At first sight not. Or we are dealing with someone who is a master in disguising murder. On Jonathan's body we were not able to find any signs of violence neither. If it had not been for the bullet shell than we would have concluded that it had been a pitiful accident. And you are?"

"My apologies, doctor. The name is Bramaud. Philippe Bramaud. I am the new head of security and from now on I will lead _personally_ the investigation from within the walls of Abacus," Bramaud answered exaggerating the emphasis on personally.

Abdi looked at him sternly upon which he quickly added: "in close collaboration with the official instances, in casu inspector Abdi."

Never Pieter had seen Ian to be this nervous, but the fast drumming of his short thick fingers showed his state of mind. He exclaimed: "we must know what is going on here. For ten years the only crime that happened here was a baboon stealing the cap of a carpenter and now, now that we finally can go full steam with the project, we are faced with one accident after the other. What is going on here?"

He silenced but nobody felt inclined to add something. So Ian continued, in a much calmer, narrative tone.

"Yesterday evening I had a meeting with Vladimir and Juergen. At length we have discussed the situation in Abacus. Especially Vince's report on information theft was investigated in detail. _Bottom line_ is that a fair amount of information is leaking from Abacus into the outside world. It is like a tunnel. The tunnel is opened from this side and from the other side. Each time a different evasion technique is being applied. But one thing is sure, there is help from inside. Vladimir had his suspicions, he had developed a theory, just like you this morning Pieter, and he was going to come back to us with hard evidence."

"Rather a strange coincidence, don't you think?" Abdi interrupted, "who was present at that meeting last night?"

"It was a closed meeting. Vladimir, Juergen, Iveta and Marsha. And myself."

Abdi turned to Vince: "can you tell us in simple words what is the essence of your report?"

Vince answered a bit uneasily, "but you know that, Mr. Abdi. You have received my report together with Ian."

"I know that. But nobody else around the table does. I think it is useful that all of us are aware of what is at stake."

Vince scraped his throat. "Our _forensics_ showed that from different computers attempts were launched to break into the crucial systems. The nature of the breaches led to the conclusion that, one, the person or persons involved had a sophisticated knowledge of hacking techniques and secondly that some of the attempts were launched from computers that belonged to, euh, to you, Ian."

A murmur travelled the room.

"But also the one from Vladimir and Juergen."

Abdi continued: "and do you have a clue what Vladimir's theory could have been?"

"Unfortunately no, this morning I was supposed to have a briefing with him. Marsha had put it in my agenda. The only thing that he confined to me is that he had asked some hackers to write for him some counter hacking tools, kind of stealth sensors. Those would attach themselves to the information that is leaking and thus leading us to the other side of the tunnel and identity of the receiver. A kind of a tracer or reversed hacking. But I lack the details. Someone should have a close look at Vladimir's personal computer."

Marscha made a note and confirmed: "I'll make sure that you get Vladimir's computer, Vince."

Bramaud interrupted her: "no, send it to me. I am leading the investigation."

Ian waved his hand impatiently: "make sure that the computer gets pulled apart, Philippe, and Vince has a number of specialists. Use them. We are a team, no need for a _cavalier seul_."

Ian looked at Pieter, hesitated to tell something but just stood up: "I think you all know that to do. I want you all to be back tonight at eight. From now on this is the _war room_. We will have each evening meetings here, till we have solved all of this."

Pieter leapt in front of Ian as they left the room and leaned towards him: "good that you did not ask for my theory."

Ian whispered back: "but someone in that room is now very worried. So you need to be extra careful. From now on you are my bait, my decoy-duck."

"Why do I have a _déjà vue_?" Pieter wondered.

His telephone rang, it was Francesca.

"Pieter, I have good news. Your place is ready. You can move in immediately."

"Nice, that is fast. And indeed good news. I started to become tired of that room. Of course I will have to miss all the action in the hotel."

"Vince told me about it. Vladimir was a good guy. It is very weird that he was that drunk, certainly days before his scheduled transplantation. He was so proud of himself."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know? I guess not a lot of people know. When I was touring around with him the last time he was over here, he started to loosen up a bit and told me. Apparently his liver was completely gone, scattered to pieces because of excessive alcohol abuse like a real Russian. Here he would undergo an experimental transplantation. But drinking and fat food were for him strictly forbidden."

Surprised Pieter asked: "and who knew about this?"

"I don't think too many people. His close co-workers like Ian and Marsha. And of course the Doctors of _team Kitwaela_. Afterwards he was a bit embarrassed that he had told me and specifically asked me to be very discrete about it. Well, I just happen to have this gift that people thrust me with things." She sounded pleased with herself.

Now Pieter understood Kitwaela's reaction, but not the one from Ian. It was obvious that Ian had taken over the lead from Philippe and Vince. In his own smart yet sly way.

Abdi tapped on his shoulder: "I think we should continue with our investigation, don't you agree?"

* * *

Chapter 38

Nervously Iveta sat in front of the two men. She hesitated before she formulated her answer: "I was with Marsha."

Pieter looked surprised: "you guys really start early. It must have been five thirty when Ian tried to reach you."

Iveta fidgeted on her chair: "I was with her the whole night. We are together. We are a couple."

Pieter's mouth stood open for a while which gave him a rather stupid appearance.

Irritated by his reaction she bit: "never seen a lesbian maybe? Do you want me to make a drawing?"

"Sorry, Iveta. I did not see that one coming," Pieter stammered clumsily.

Abdi saved the awkward situation by returning to the questioning: "so you called Vince on his mobile. Than you talked to Jonathan and a bit later he was picked up by a car. What did you exactly tell Jonathan?"

She shook her head: "but I have never talked to him. I remember that I had left my phone in Vladimir's office for a while. I had been there attending a meeting with Ian and Marsha. I recall that I had to run back to fetch the thing."

Abdi took out his hand: "can I have a look at it?"

She unhooked the smartphone from her belt, typed the release code on the touchscreen and handed over the device to Abdi. He put on his reading glasses and started to fiddle with the menus. After a while he gave it back to her.

"So someone else must have called Vince, " Abdi concluded.

"Must be."

"You have any idea who this person could have been?"

She shrugged her shoulders: "what do you want me to say? I assume Marsha. She is the only one who knows my security code. We had arranged our work in such a way that we could serve as each others back-up."

"So you are the PA's of Ian and Vladimir. How long do you know each other already?" Pieter interjected.

"A couple of years. We have met each other for the first time at a gala dinner in Milan. Marsha was already the PA of Vladimir. She introduced me to Ian and so I became his assistant."

Abdi continued: "honestly, I never understood why someone wants to become the assistant of a CEO. Certainly not someone with your _palmares_ : doctor in computer sciences from the polytechnic universities of Milan and Prague. Georgia Tech. Fontainebleau.

She reacted violently: "Mister Abdi, the assistant of a CEO is not someone who makes coffee. It is his trusted representative, his advisor. It is someone who ensures that behind the scenes all functions like clock-work. I take decisions on his behalf so he can concentrate on the important topics for the company and its share holders. By the way, Marsha holds the same degrees and certificates. In companies like ours the job of the PA is a step into the direction of general management."

"That is very well put, Miss Iveta," Abdi soothed. "We have no more questions. In any case, there she already comes, Marsha. Thanks for your cooperation. We will no longer keep you from your duties."

She raised but Pieter remembered to ask one more thing: "did Ian call you this morning? Around five thirty?"

"Yes he did. I had a _missed call_ this morning. I called him back a bit later."

Iveta went to Marsha and hugged her in a supporting gesture.

"I though that you already had interrogated Marsha yesterday while I was wading through the rain towards Vince?" Pieter asked Abdi.

"No, but I did have an interesting talk with Juergen instead."

Marsha joined them at their table. The dark sunglasses hid her swollen eyes and part of her pale face. She put the glasses up in her dark long hair and blinked against the sudden sunlight.

"Are you OK, Marsha?" Pieter inquired a bit worried. She really looked terribly.

"Awful headache," she complained while gobbling from one of the bottles of water on the table. "And as if that is not bad enough, there is no trace of Vladimir's computer."

"No, really? Highly interesting and also very convenient. Did you talk to Jonathan that afternoon and used the telephone of Iveta to do so?" Abdi started. Apparently he was not too worried about the disappearance of Vladimir's computer.

She looked at him in surprise: "No, I have not done that."

"Iveta claimed that she had forgotten her mobile. And that just after a meeting with you, coincidentally around the same time. The timing is correct in other words."

"Iveta forgetting her mobile? Haha, _that will be the day_. No, she is hyper careful. Don't forget that in that phone all confidential information of Ian's company is stored. She went to sleep with that thing because she wanted to be available for him around the clock. She even had a special ringtone for him at night. Other numbers would not give a signal, only his. And in addition, she changed her passcode twice a day. Just to be sure that if she lost the thing, nobody would be able to use it.""

"How long do you know each other?" Pieter asked.

"A couple of years. We have met at a party in Milan where the big consultants have their yearly get-together. She was really stealing the show in her long black dress with the breathtaking uncovered back. The whole _who's who_ was staring at her. For me it was love at first sight. You know, I actually introduced her to Ian."

Pieter asked another question: "if the whole who's who was there, were there any other people who are now here?"

Without thinking Marsha confirmed: "Juergen of course. He just had his promotion. He was the youngest of all CEO's but without any doubt the most brilliant."

Marsha blew up her cheeks and released the air in short bursts: "oh dear, I really don't feel well today. I never thought that Vladimir's death would have had such an impact on me."

"Why do you think that Vladimir drank so much, days before his transplantation?"

Abdi looked surprised at Pieter which gave the latter a winning feeling. "One-nil for Pieter," he cheered internally.

"Vladimir was a strong character. It is hard to believe. If only you knew what he had to go through to get this far. His diet was his religion. I am really puzzled about what happened that made him drink. And in such large quantities."

"Did _you_ drink a lot yesterday?" Pieter asked, "it is obvious that you are suffering from a hang-over."

"It certainly feels like one, but no, I did not drink too much last night." She was truly confused: "I must have eaten something wrong, that must be it."

"Was Iveta with you last night?"

"Yes she was, till we were called this morning to receive the news about Vladimir."

"Did you hear Iveta's phone around five thirty or a quarter to six?"

"No, I did not. Apparently Iveta had to shake me for five minutes before I woke up."

Abdi gestured that the conversation was over and Marsha stood up. She put the sunglasses again for her eyes. "I wished that I could take the rest of the day off and sit under those trees. But I still need to trace back that damned computer. No idea where he has put that thing. Can I take those bottles of water?"

She left the terrace and Pieter shouted after her: "oily fish eat a lot of fat salmon. It is the best way to get rid of a hangover."

"Pieter, I think you should take a look at this."

From his worn briefcase, Abdi pulled out a slim laptop: "I assume you already know this is from Vladimir."

* * *

Chapter 39

Bramaud paced angrily into their direction: "what is going on here? Why are you interrogating people without my permission?"

Dryly Abdi answered: "as long as you are a suspect in this case, you will not get access to the case."

"That is not what I have agreed with Ian. You heard him yourself. And since when am I a suspect? I just arrived for heaven's sake."

"Ian's authority in this case disappeared the moment that we proved that Jonathan did not die a natural death in an accident but was murdered. Pieter has proven that beyond doubt last night. Automatically that makes the death of Vladimir also suspicious. And I am the only one who decides who is a suspect and who is not."

"I will take this up with Ian, this is unheard of," he yelled and disappeared again.

Pieter looked at Vladimir's computer, still closed in front of Abdi.

"Shall I ask how you got that thing?"

"Don't worry Pieter. I did not steal it. Nor do I want to set up Marsha. Vladimir himself gave it to me last night, together with his passwords. He called it his insurance in case something would happen to him. I even offered him protection but he waved that away by saying that whomever was behind it was not acting that fast."

"He made a fatal mistake."

"He did. Vince and my teams did not sit still last night. I can assure you that you are not the only one who has not slept enough. Ah, there is my next witness. I think you already know him quite well."

Pieter looked aside and to his surprise he saw Brian coming their way.

"Oh-oh," was the only noise that Pieter could produce.

Abdi found the situation quite amusing. "Yes, he filed a complaint against you. In return, I informed him that in our matriarchal society a man who beats his wife gets castrated so he'd better stay quiet. I think he got it. Anyway, he is here to support or kill one of my own theories. I am curious."

"So am I, so am I," Pieter said, not looking forward to the confrontation, castration-threat or not.

The atmosphere around the table could not be called cordial. But Brian's testimony was clear. After the incident with Pieter's fist, he had been taken care of by some of the fellow bar frequenters. Then he had run upstairs to his room to freshen up and put on clean clothes. Afterwards he had returned to the bar. The ambience there was still high-spirited and the drinks flowed lavishly. And yes he recognised Vladimir as one of the men in the bar. 'But," he added, "Weird enough for a Russian he drank orange juice and sparkling water."

One of the two women, the blonde, acted very flirtatiously and took personal care that the glasses were constantly filled. She even had ordered the bartender to ensure there was an uninterrupted supply of bottles. Around midnight the bar was closed but they had been able to convince the bartender to give them some bottles of whisky and vodka to continue the party in a room. The four disappeared to the fifth floor. From that moment on he had not seen them anymore, till he heard the news during his breakfast.

He rubbed his painful nose.

When he had left again, Pieter asked: "so we have a witness that Vladimir was sober the whole night, at least till he disappeared from the bar, that Iveta was in an amorous mood and that Marsha did drink a little too much. And that young Juergen let loose the beast also. Sounds like a great party, but it does not explain why Vladimir fell drunk into the pool."

Abdi nodded slowly: "It is strange, isn't it?"

He bent forward to Pieter and tapped on his hand: "that is why I have my own little theories. Brian has just confirmed one. But first I want you to do one more thing for me."

Pieter looked hopefully.

"Move to your new house. And make sure that you are back at eight."

* * *

Chapter 40

_Move_ was an overstatement to throw some clothes in a trunk and drive to the new house. To his pleasant surprise Jane was already putting her stuff in the closets. He recognised her travel bag from when he first had seen her, dripping wet on a sinking boat.

"What are you doing here? Did you already get time off after one day of hard work? I should get a teacher's job too."

"Do not underestimate the stress of an educational career. But no, apparently today is Wednesday and there is a free afternoon. So, I decided to do some serious shopping to replenish our rather meagre collection of clothes, and food, so we will not die from cold or hunger. Amazing that one loses his sense of time once you are here, don't you think so?"

He put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. He opened the upper buttons of her new light blue blouse. "And what will I have for dinner tonight, honey, something amazing also?"

She escaped from his arms and slapped him on the fingers. "You can do with a new shirt also, here put this one on. I hope it fits. My mother also liked it." She forced his shirt off and made him put on a pale blue shirt. He looked disgusted. "Did you really feel that we need to dress like twins?"

In one breath she continued, finally answering his question: "oh, did I ever tell you that I cannot cook? I am afraid that the kitchen will be your domain. Remember that night on Egmont? We are not twins, we are soul mates."

"How can I forget? With your bruised knee. Actually, now that I come to think of it, I have never seen you without bruises or wounds. How can I be sure that you are even pretty behind these weird colours and dried blood? Soul mate or not."

"Far to pretty for you, that is for sure," she laughed and walked through the corridor that ran parallel with the interior garden. "Do you know into whom I bumped today? Brigitte. Remember her? The one with the big boobies you stared at with popping eyes. We have been invited for a dinner party next week."

"Nice," Pieter answered from the kitchen. "I am already looking forward to it with popping eyes. Literally and figuratively. I hope they have a private pool."

Pieter switched on the television set. The situation in the world started to take dramatic shapes. Images of people leaving in long queues the large cities. Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Rome, Moscow, Sydney. The stock markets had stopped their activities all together. In parliaments around the world the atmosphere was below zero and representatives of the people started to fight with ministers. Pieter switched between the channels. One channel showed how military installations were manned and tested. American troops were constantly flown into Eastern Europe, but also to Tibet, Laos and Mexico. Ian could be right; they were heading towards the end of their civilisation.

"Sweetie, where are you?" he asked.

He called again as she had not heard him. He stood up to look for her in the bedroom. Curious to find out what her next surprise was going to be.

The voice sounded familiar, but he could not immediately link it to a face.

"Come and join us Pieter. This will not take longer than absolutely needed."

Pieter did not look at the young, blonde man. He stared at the threatening shape of the silencer. The pistol was aimed without any trembling at the waist of Jane who stood pale pressed against the edge of the bed.

"You turned out to be a real pain the past days, Mister Van Dyck. But thankfully that has now come to an end. I am sorry that you are dragging an innocent Jane with you in your reckless adventures. It is a real waste. But it is what it is."

"So you are the one behind the murders of Jonathan and Vladimir."

"That would be too easy, Pieter. It is a bit more complicated than that. I do not work alone. As Ian said earlier: we are a team. And I can claim that I have a strong team. Nobody fell out of their role, not even these last days during your pathetic interrogations. I am proud of their agile improvisations. That is something that you cannot do anymore. You are stuck in rigid processes that need to be followed no matter what. You could have become a loyal poodle of Ian."

"And how much does it earn?"

"Pieter, that is an amount that you cannot even imagine. More than enough to guarantee a safe and luxurious life. Maybe I will move into that wonderful place of yours on Egmont. If I can believe Bramaud's stories, that must be a small paradise on earth. And soon the world may not even remember there is something like the Egmont atoll. The old Ian will be surprised and he'd better take me serious. No longer call me his little computer whiz-kid like a digital Harry Potter."

"And who is all behind this?"

"Pieter, Pieter, stop asking. I have seen enough bad movies where one tries to gain time. I am not falling in that open trap."

Without any emotion he shot Jane a couple of times. The poisonous sounds were hardly noticeable but the dumb impact of the bullets sounded like thunder in Pieter's ears. Jane's body was lifted and she sank like a doll against the bed. Her eyes begging up to Pieter. Rapidly blood stained her new blouse.

Pieter roared and jumped to Juergen who quietly aimed and shot. The last what Pieter would feel were the pounding claps on his chest.

* * *

Chapter 41

"So Juergen, this is a behaviour that I really cannot condone," it sounded severely.

In disbelief Juergen turned around and looked into the harsh eyes of Ian. Next to him stood Vince. Motionless, he held a gun pointed at Juergen's head.

"Don't try to do something. Outside there are a bunch of snipers. One move that they don't like and you will follow your two victims into death. Did they really have to die? I can imagine that you were frustrated that Pieter had come so close to the truth, but also Abdi and I had strong suspicions."

"Who says that you were not the next ones?" Juergen replied coldly. "Your time will come soon. Nobody is interested in what is happening here."

"I am always intersted in a good story," Abdi said upon entering the bedroom. The officers in his wake disarmed and handcuffed Juergen who did not resist. "Take him to the head office. In Somalia we still have some nice places to stay."

Ian looked at the bodies of Jane and Pieter. "Quite a nice couple, don't you think?"

He bent over Pieter and slapped softly on his cheek. A deep moan came from his mouth and Pieter open slowly in disbelief his eyes, as if he had expected to see someone or something else.

"What the hell?" He grabbed his painful chest. His breathing squeaked as if someone had put a metal plate and was dancing on it. "Jane? Jane?" He crawled to the edge of the bed and took her in his arms. Also Jane was recovering and smiled painfully. "Hello there, what did you think of my little surprise?" She tried to get up but clasped her belly. "Man it is like I did a thousand sit-ups." She looked angrily at Ian, "that, you did not tell me!"

Pieter looked dumb and did not understand the remark.

"My dear Jane, those polymer armours still require some fine-tuning. They already look good, but the polymerising surface has to be better adapted to the incoming energy so that this kind of side effects can be limited. The blood effect on the other hand is as good as perfect. Very dramatic."

"And what is a polymer armourr?" Pieter asked.

"It is an advanced bullet proof vest. A traditional vest would have been a bit too obvious for Juergen and he would have aimed for your heads. Ironically this was one of Vladimir's pet projects. Juergen was not even aware of it. He was only interested in the offensive technologies, not the defensive ones. As you can see it looks like an ordinary blouse or shirt. But when there is a sudden transfer of energy, like the impact of a bullet, than the fabric polymerizes almost at the speed of light into ultra hard armour. As the energy of the impact disappears, the hardened surface becomes soft again."

"And you knew about this?" Pieter asked Jane.

"Yes, Mister Abdi approached me this morning. He explained me his plan and I didn't hesitate for a moment."

Pieter became outraged: "are you people mad? That you use me as a decoy, fine, I can live with that and I am getting used to it. But you cannot involve her."

"Be quiet," Jane responded, insulted. "I can make my own choices. And you don't always have to steal the action."

"So what if Juergen knew about these vests? What if he had aimed at our heads? Than you would have two real corpses. Would that make you feel any good?"

Abdi pointed outside. "Out there are our best sharpshooters. If there was even the slightest chance that he would have lifted the barrel of his gun they would not have hesitated to shoot. Those were my orders. And trust me, he would have been dead. But then he would have become a dead end in the investigation. We needed him for questioning. I am always amazed how they want to explain the reason why they acted like they did. He will talk, eventually. They all do."

"Next time, but there will not be a next time, I really would appreciate it if you inform me beforehand of your wicked schemes."

Ian gave him a pad on the shoulder, sending a stab of pain into his chest. "But my dear Pieter, you react _so_ much better when you don't know in advance. Let's go, I don't want to be late for my own war-room meeting."

* * *

Chapter 42

At eight o'clock sharp Ian came into the meeting room. He looked content and energized. A big difference from this morning when he was tired and worn down. He opened the meeting: "I see that everyone is available. Juergen asks to be excused, he had an urgent appointment."

He continued: "the last couple of days were filled with surprises and commotion. Ten years we were able to build and construct the foundations of our project Abacus. And now that we are able to fully launch the project with a complete staff, we have been plagued by set-backs, information theft, accidents and plain murder. More than ten years I have worked on this place, this dream. Each time under the assumption that those who shared my dream and worked with me, did so because of the same drive. A safe haven where, decoupled from political, military and religious forces, teams could work on new technologies and innovation. To gradually grow into a new society that could model for the world. A world where the night has fallen. In this world conflict Abacus is neutral and we will be forgotten amidst the turmoil of a global war. Also the coming years we will be able without disturbance to work, to innovate, to invent. All projects within Abacus are fully active. This means that we are completely independent from the outside world for our food, energy, needs. But we will not be an island. From this place we will expand as development aid through Africa and for once learn from past mistakes."

He stopped, realising it was neither the time nor the audience to exalt for the future. So he continued: "but it became painfully clear that not everyone shared that dream or vision. But that also this project was abused to gain power and wealth. To my annoyance and anger, I saw that human characteristics like greed and power have poisoned the project. All the way up to the top and into the roots of this organisation. Nevertheless we were able to correct the situation and thanks to the efforts of some stubborn people we were able to identify the guilty ones, the rotten apples."

Ian gave the floor to Abdi: "our inspector Abdi will give us an overview and the conclusions based on his investigation of the past days."

A bit theatrical Abdi rose. It reminded Pieter of a closing scene from one of Agatha Christie's stories, where _inspector Poirot_ would invite all of the characters to join him in the stately salon of the old mansion where the murder was committed.

"Since a couple of months we knew, thanks to the research of Vince Smith and his team, that at irregular intervals classified information leaked to the outside world. The technology and techniques that were used were sophisticated. Very sophisticated. That raised the suspicion that we were dealing with a group of specialised and gifted computer experts. When we brought this to the attention of Ian, he decided to only share this with Vladimir. At that time it was Ian's plan to give each of his close collaborators a specific area of responsibilities. He had in mind to give Vladimir all areas related to security and to Juergen all that was related to research and innovation. As more people arrived in Abacus and started to work on their projects. The results and successes booked by the teams could, and still can, be called astronomical. So also the intensity of the info thefts increased. Vladimir contacted some of his old friends who in their turn developed specific sensors to be placed on laptops, tablets, mini frames, mainframes and so on. Than it was a matter of waiting patiently.

Jonathan was an annoying development. Ian had made believe that Jonathan was a computer freak from the Navy. Charged with the protection of the Abacus computer system and that he would quickly solve the thefts. He was announced on the evening that a large coup was prepared to sell some very lucrative laser guiding systems to the outside world. The timing of Jonathan's arrival was inconvenient. Already the day after his arrival he got briefed by Ian and Vince's team, when he was suddenly interrupted by a phone call from Iveta. The message was that Ian had forgotten to tell him something."

Iveta tried to protest, but Abdi continued.

"The car that picked up Jonathan was driven by Juergen. Juergen, as computer expert having all of the privileges on Abacus' systems, had switched all of the surveillance cameras into self maintenance mode. He drove Jonathan outside Abacus under the pretext that he had to urgently inspect the robot system as he had found out that the robots themselves were key to the information thefts of Abacus' defence system. Jonathan, not suspecting anything, judged that was indeed reason enough and had a high priority. Especially since Juergen informed him that someone was tampering with the software and that everyone was looking towards traditional PCs or computers as leak. But those robots were also connected to mainframes and could be hacked into to make a way to the outside world. They went to the meadows where Juergen knocked him out and dragged the body towards the grazing herd. The robots that had been loaded with the old software were activated and interpreted the lying body, maybe regaining consciousness, as a predator. The robot came dashing up, making the noise of a predator. The herd got into a stampede and Jonathan was no longer able to escape. It was the perfect accident and it would probably also be catalogued as one if it were not for that one shell that was found. That is why we continued to search and were able to unravel a lot of inconsistencies."

"When during the meeting with Ian, where also Marsha, Iveta and Juergen were present, Vladimir talked about his sensors and the information they had gathered some people became nervous. When he also hinted that there was sufficient evidence to point at individuals and when also Ian announced that Pieter had proven beyond doubt that Jonathan was murdered, they became worried. With such a big transaction coming up, even I would have become nervous. And as always, when people are nervous, they make mistakes. With Vladimir for instance. Only very few people knew that Vladimir would not touch one drop of alcohol because of his scheduled surgery. Yet last night some people tried to create the impression that Vladimir started to drink and party heavily. And because most of the visitors of the bar their observation ability already had been troubled, they were pretty successful too. Till one visitor of the bar was brought back to sobriety in a rather unpleasant way and assured us that Vladimir had not touched liquor that evening. The bartender confirmed this. Also his assistant, Marsha, was not that drunk but a royal portion of sleeping powder did a good job at creating the same effect. And that was needed because Iveta had to seduce Vladimir. For her a piece of cake. When she left the sleeping Marsha and finished romping with Vladimir, she lured him into an early skinny-dippy. A slender person like Iveta would never be able to knock down a massive man like Vladimir, so Juergen stood ready in the garden to hit him and drown him in the pool."

Iveta jumped on and shouted: "but no, the blood sample showed clearly that he was drunk like hell. Look at Kitwaela's report."

Abdi was not to be thrown off his balance. "You are right Iveta. Only the blood sample did not come from Vladimir, but from Brian. When Pieter exited the lobby, you came out of the group to help him. And while you were nursing him, you had the ability to take some blood. A bleeding nose can provide just the right quantity, no? That was quite smart, because, coincidence or not, Brian and Vladimir had the same blood type. Only Brian's liver is in a much better condition. A more thorough blood examination brought that to the surface. The work of Dr. De la Fayette was crucial, also in finding some bruises that could not just be explained by hitting your head at the corner of a swimming pool. It seems that our good Doctor Kitwaela is not that precise after all."

Kitwaela protested loudly: "how dare you question my integrity as doctor? And behind my back ..."

Abdi answered severely: "I do not question your ability as a doctor. I question your integrity as a human being. Also for someone from the Masai money can be irresistible. Especially when you are ambitious. It is a waste of talent that you were bribed to let Vladimir die in the operation room. But Vladimir had to disappear more urgently because he was closer to unravelling the case than expected. So his death had to be imminent. You have closely escaped from committing a murder, young man. I hope that Dr. De la Fayette will be able to set your straight again."

"And than there is the mystery why Jonathan's phone did not work. Jonathan was a bit like many of you. The urge to be connected and on-line all the time, the _homo connecticus_. Jonathan was maybe not a computer genius, but he certainly was not the PC-moron that he played for years. And you know, intelligent people have one weak point. When they speak to someone who they believe is not that smart, they easily become arrogant. My favourite detective series is _Colombo_. The whole series has been restored and made available on chip. I can recommend it to all of you."

"To come back on Jonathan's phone. We have witnesses that claim that Jonathan's phone was charged during the flight from the Maldives. So how come that the battery was empty and there was no trace of the charger? I must say that that little detail puzzled me for a long time. I had several scenarios in mind, till I spoke to Alex, the pilot. He told me that he had control over all circuits and that he only switched on the electrical outlets on the specific request of the flight attendants. Apparently once he had been able to avoid a fire because someone could not find another useful way to kill time than by putting paperclips in the plane's outlets. That day he had not received a request to activate one. Upon little pressure the stewardess admitted that for a couple of thousand euros she had taken the charger from Karum, put it in a non activated outlet and gave Jonathan his phone back without the charger. In the typical rush to leave the airplane he forgot to ask it back. Nevertheless the stewardess showed us where she had disposed of the charger, which had been made useless by her in case he would not forget to claim it back."

Abdi took a deep breath: "what people do for a fistful of dollars."

He continued: "some people will crack under pressure quicker than others. The stewardess was one of them to tell us the truth. When you are expanding your plans and include more people, the more difficult it is to control the edges. It was not difficult to find out who had asked her."

Abdi stared at Iveta, who became more and more upset. She shouted: "can you please stop these accusations? All what you have said and claimed are nice but unproven theories. I can shake some of those out of my sleeves also."

Abdi looked interested: "I am very well aware of that, Iveta. But how do you explain these images that were taken a couple of hours ago at Pieter's new house?"

He pushed the remote and the sharp images of a security camera in the street were projected on the back wall of the room. A vehicle arrived and stopped a couple of meters before the house. A patrolling police car turned into the street and the parked car left at full speed. Abdi stopped the images and zoomed in. The face of an annoyed Iveta was clearly to be seen.

Abdi explained: "for the occasion we placed a number of stand-alone cameras to ensure that nobody could switch them off and we would be able to identify, beyond doubt, the driver."

"But I was there to collect Pieter," Iveta tried.

"I am sure that you were there to collect Juergen. Otherwise you would not have tried to escape from the police car. But please, look at this footage."

Abdi played with the remote and said: "the next images can be a bit shocking but the fact that Jane and Pieter are here should ease everyone." On the screen you could see that Juergen shot first Jane and than Pieter, without hesitation. A collection of different angles appeared, each showing a different replay of Juergen shooting at Jane and Pieter.

The images ended with Juergen being pushed in a car and driving away.

Ian stood up: "now you also know why Juergen is not here and what his appointment was, the local jail. When he entered that institution, he was quick to admit and has confessed already a lot to team Abdi. So what Mister Abdi tells here, has been confirmed by Juergen. Nevertheless some people in this room still seem to neglect the facts."

Iveta burst out: "it is not because I am your assistant that I could not do your work. I am tired to be number two. Yet it is thanks to me that you are so successful. Who took care of all the prep work, all the notes, and all the background information? But I stayed a stupid PA although you had promised me a stellar career. At least Juergen saw that this whole Abacus project would have a limited lifespan. That the war outside would end sooner than you think. And that would be our time. We had to profit from the situation now it lasted and countries would pay big money for some of the developments from Abacus that later maybe nobody would want. Not you, Ian, nor Vladimir could understand that. We were trying to get a life insurance from Abacus. You did never see the big picture Ian. You were so naive that you thought this could be a happy Utopia. Get a life, moron. Morus' head was chopped off for this and yours will follow soon."

Two of Abdi's officers lead Iveta out of the room. Marsha was moved to tears when Iveta yelled at her: "what did you expect? That I really loved you?"

Oona, setting next to Marsha, put her arm around her and pulled her closer to comfort her.

Abdi looked at Ian and said: "there you have it, my full report. Do you want to add something?"

Ian pretended to think deeply: "yes, I will need a new PA. Marsha, would you give me the honour to take that function?"

That remark unloaded the tense atmosphere in the room.

Ian got up: "as I said, these were interesting days. It is rewarding that we were able to defuse the situation. The Abacus slate is wiped clean. At least within our own boundaries. An international team under the leadership of Mister Abdi will search for the accomplices outside. Now that those have no longer their contacts inside it will be much more difficult. But you never know. But as they say, a warned man is worth the double. And under Vince and Philippe I am sure we will be able to develop an effective security strategy. So, to wrap up as it has been a very long day. It is my pleasure to announce that the daily _war room calls_ will no longer be needed."

Everyone smiled a bit uncertain, not knowing very well what to do next. Small groups started to form in the lobby till everyone went outside and dissolved to their daily business.

Also Pieter and Jane were about to get into their car when Abdi appeared. He shook Pieter's hand long and explicitly. Pieter started to feel a bit uneasy looking at the smiling Abdi. One moment he thought that Abdi had celebrated in advance his victory with some of the good white wine of the hotel. But then he finally said: "masterly, Pieter, masterly. I would never have thought of dropping a bullet shell at the crime scene."

Pieter answered seriously: "it was the only way to be sure that a decent investigation would be started."

Abdi nodded: "and I think you are right, Pieter. I am afraid it is not over yet. Abacus will become a gem. It will not be forgotten by the outside world, on the contrary. But for now, things will return to normal. I am sure we will speak again soon. Take care."

On their way to their new home, Jane asked curiously: "what was that all about with Abdi? I really want to know till someone else wants to shoot me in my own bedroom."

Pieter smiled: "remember that hill where Francesca stopped the first day for us to enjoy the view? Well, under the bushes there were empty shells. I could not resist picking up a couple of them. When I was a child I had a collection of bullets and shells, maybe that is the reason. I just could not resist. I know it was on impulse. But when I saw Jonathan's broken body, I just knew that more was going on. I dropped one of the shells and took a picture of it. Actually, I think I dropped four or five just to be sure that Abdi's men would find at least one. And they did."

He sighed and massaged with his fingers her neck as she was driving: "sometimes we need to help _Vrouwe Fortuna_ a bit."

* * *

Epilogue

The fluffy beige cushions on the teak chairs supported Pieter's body firmly and cosily. The smell of the burning coal mingled slowly with the odour of the tropical vegetation. He did not at all feel like leaving this position, but the barbeque was merciless with his food.

Pieter swayed the platter with grilled jumbo-prawns and scampi under Jane's nose, saying: "this is it. This is life. Mmmmm... Let us enjoy every second of it." He took one of the grilled jumbo shrimp and started to open it. He started to coo like a child unwrapping one of the few real surprise packages on Christmas Eve. "I can really appreciate the simple things in life."

Jane installed herself opposite him and opened her hand. Reluctantly he gave her the shrimp. She looked up to the pitch dark sky and tried to recognise the starts.

"I think there are very few people who are, just like us, reflecting on their past weeks," she said.

Pieter continued to open the shrimp and placed the platter between them. He felt safe, despite all the action of the past days. Not many people got killed in their bedroom and eat shrimp that same evening. He felt safe because he knew that Abdi had placed hidden guards around the house.

"Yes, I guess a lot of people have other things on their mind right now. Like primal survival. But now I want to enjoy my well deserved rest for the next ten years."

"It is just a matter what you define as rest."

"That is easy," he answered: "silence, quietness, not to be shot at." He paused and added: "to be alone with you."

"We could fall short on the alone, Pieter," Jane answered almost casually. "It just happens that I am pregnant."

THE END OF THIS BOOK

An interview with the author **:**

_Why did you write The Abacus Equation_?

I wanted to convey a couple of messages. One is the story about how far technology and people will go to create a so called better world. Demolish everything around them and start someplace new. A very romantic notion in literature, but in my book it takes extreme forms. The other message is one of manipulation. It is amazing to realize how we are, in our daily lives, manipulated by others. In the book, the main character, Pieter Van Dyck, is, despite his critical mind and free spirit, nothing more than a chess piece in someone else's bigger scheme. But there is no way he can break away from it. Not in this book at least, maybe in the sequel that I am writing.

Curious to read that one, when will it come out?

I am afraid that will be end 2012. But it will come, that is for sure.

Technology plays an important part in your book; can we call it a techno-thriller?

I am a technology and gadget person. My whole professional career I have been surrounded by technology, from laser imaging to life sciences. And I was lucky enough to work in global headquarters of large European or American enterprises. So, I experience every day how technology is impacting our lives, from hypes to disillusions. Personally I would not call it a techno thriller, for that the technology must be the protagonist. That is not the case in the Abacus Equation. The protagonists are real people. The story evolves around their lives, their feelings and their interactions.

The setting is very international. From the Indian Ocean to Africa to New York. Why not closer at home?

I was amazed to read on some "how to write sites", that the teachers are still strongly suggesting that a writer should stay within his or her own immediate environment; your city, your town or province. If you are really bold, your country. I think that is absolute nonsense. The days of the _Heimat_ literature are over. Today the world is our home. Technology makes us free and we can go practically wherever we want. In person or virtual. Modern people move around a lot, you know, even when there is an economic crisis.

There are quite some serious philosophical discussions in the book. Are you not afraid that it will scare the readers?

I hope not. I don't like the straight solve the murder or catch the spy novels. The reader is not stupid. The reader wants to think with the characters or the author. I wanted to bring in some elements that I am sure will make people think while they are caught in a good plot. But it is a serious book. I am not afraid to bring in elements of religion, humanism and economics. But the overall message is a positive one. In today's literature there is not enough optimism. When I see what kind of novels receive prizes, for instance in Belgian youth literature ... well, it makes me sad. The topics are about rape, suicide; drugs, prostitution. The style is rough as if the only way to get into the reader's mind is to shock him. I am not saying that these topics must be avoided, on the contrary; but the message is a negative one while today more than ever people, young and old, need a positive attitude. A story that is positive, without being naive or a simpleton.

Did you succeed in telling the story the way you wanted it?

I think every writer has the feeling that his work is never finished. When I read my own words, there is always something that I want to change, that I want to formulate differently. A creative work is never finished, I guess. That is the good thing with electronic publishing. A book can change, it becomes an evolving creation. I like that. Even the reader can participate by sending suggestions. The reader becomes part of the story.

Any anecdotes happened while writing?

Well, indeed there is one. When I talked to people about the book, I was amazed to generally get the following three questions. The sequence is important. The first one was: is there sex in your book? The second one: how thick will it be? And only the third question probed into the content of the book. I found that quite amusing up to the point that I wanted to rewrite it to contain only pornographic scenes. But in the end I did not. Just kidding.

What a shame!

