Lars Kunta glanced at the time displayed on the vid screen inside the Peugeot limousine and sighed. An update on water-scarce areas around the world streamed beneath the time. He watched Lake Tahoe in the American West recede to a water line one hundred and fifty feet below its historic banks. The image changed to sand blowing through deserted streets of an abandoned city swallowed by the Sahara. Next was the Indus River riverbed, covered in grass, its bottom spotted with small pools connected by a slow-moving stream. The drone bringing the live feed of the Indus rose above the riverbed to show Indian and Pakistani forces on either side facing off in an uneasy truce.
"And now for our coverage of sports events," a new anchor intoned. The vid screen turned to a European futbol match between competitors in the Bundesliga.
"Incoming call, sir," intoned the limousine's operating system. "Will you take it?"
A welcome interruption, Lars saw his personal aid from Cape Towne appear. "Yes, put him through."
"Mr. Kunta," said the clean-shaven face of a fit young man replacing the cricket match coverage. "I am informed that Messrs. Gezi and Gheel are already at the Club. I wanted to make sure you were prepared."
"Thank you, Dieter," Lars responded pleasantly. "It will be interesting to see whether they get along. If it had not been for the need for absolute secrecy, I would have preferred a holographic conference to avoid their being in the same room. Thank you for the warning."
"Is there anything else?" Lars asked after three beats of silence.
"No, Sir. Nothing more, Sir. I will be standing by if needed."
Lards ended the call with the press of a button on the armrest of the luxurious car.
Lars idly glanced out the window after ending the link and above through the roof windows of the self-driving limousine. It expertly navigated through mid-day traffic once off the autobahn from the airport to Brussels Centrum. Gray skies. The skies were always gray in Brussels. The weather was always dreary. Rainy. He envied Europe. The weather here changed little despite the ravages of climate change elsewhere.
Water scarcity.
The phrase from the earlier broadcast stuck in his head. "Even here in Europe, fresh water is rationed." He looked down on Brussels's water-deprived areas below the raised highway.
If they only knew.
The vehicle slid to a smooth stop in front of a palatial three-story building.
"Open the door, please," Lars asked the vehicle's operating system.
"Of course, sir," the vehicle responded. "Watch your head when exiting. Have a nice day."
"Welcome to the Club von Lotharingen, sir," said the white-gloved attendant stationed at the front gate. "Can I help you with anything?"
"No, thank you. I know the way," Lars half-saluted as he began the walk from the front gate to the main entrance.
He enjoyed the walk up the driveway. Red carpeting covered the sidewalk in front of the arched entry. Spear-tipped wrought iron fences connected massive concrete pillars on all sides, speaking to the power housed in this palace since the Middle Ages. Large oaken doors opened for him as he approached as if on their own accord.
The Chief Butler stood to the side as Lars passed through.
"Welcome, sir," the butler smiled brightly. Her underbutler stood on the opposite side of the entrance.
"Thank you, Brigitte," Lars returned her smile. "It is nice to see you again. Which room are we in today?"
"The Salon Bosquet, sir," Brigitte said. "Your guests have arrived."
YOU ARE READING
The Price of Water
Mystery / ThrillerBy 2051, the world is in the midst of a water crisis. The sourcing and distribution of freshwater are controlled by private water companies who care only about their profits. Led by three of the most powerful water company executives, a secret organ...
