The Abacus Equation

by Peter Stremus

  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.”

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