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QUORUM
Bachman was the last to arrive or so he thought. It was an idiosyncrasy he had developed over the years as he rose through the ranks, a silent way of enforcing his power and authority. It was just after five in the morning giving them an over an hour of darkness to complete the test. There was a slight breeze blowing in off the sea that gave the autumn chill a little more bite on the exposed beach. It had been much like every other morning for General Tomek Bachman. The widower had followed his normal routine, wake at three, thirty minutes of laps in his pool, followed by a breakfast of freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee and fruit, normally strawberries. The only difference was that today his driver had headed north from his fortified home in Ramot Sharon and to the military base at Atlit rather than Camp Rabin in Tel Aviv. All those present acknowledged his presence some with a simple good morning others with a salute. A makeshift camouflaged awning had been strung between two military trailers. Two tables had been arranged facing out to sea, each as a makeshift workstation with two chairs, two laptops and the requisite lab-coated technicians. At the rear another table had been arranged with some rudimentary refreshments, water, juice and coffee from push-button oversized thermos flasks. Bachman removed his beret and headed for the coffee. “Where is he?” It was a simple question to which nobody wanted to be the one to answer. Furtive glances were exchanged between the group behind Bachman’s back before Bina Novak spoke up. The young bespectacled technician was aware of Bachman’s reputation but unlike the military personnel she didn’t answer to him and had little to fear. She swivelled around on her chair slipping a pencil into the tightly crafted bun of blonde hair and matter-of- factly answered. “He’ll be one minute General. The Professor and Dr Matos are just making a few minor calibrations to the power supply.” Copyright © Sean Buckley MMXXIII
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