The Abacus Equation

  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  He put on his outdated pilot sun glasses and made his way to the infirmary crossing the dusty road.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.

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