The Abacus Equation
by
Peter Stremus
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.
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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 conti
nued 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.”
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