The Abacus Equation

by Peter Stremus

  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.”

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