by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 2
Six thousand miles from where Jim Smith nursed his morning headache, stood a vast glass and concrete office block bedecked with flags of different nations.
Inside it, Committee Room 4/116 was identical to Committee Rooms 4/115 and 4/117 and all other such fourth floor rooms. The focal point of each of the rooms was an oval table made of seasoned ash encircled by twelve chairs also made of ash with dark blue leather padding. In the corner of each room stood the essential machine for coffee and chilled water, the smaller table standing alongside each machine being for plates of biscuits, cookies and sandwiches for meetings that took longer than the two hour bookable slots or extended over lunchtimes.
In Room 4/116, the Director General, known as "The DG" to the hundreds of staff that ultimately reported to him, had settled in the middle chair on one side of the table facing the door and wall clock. He was a slim, ordinary looking, middle-aged man with greying hair receding from his forehead and wearing wide rimmed glasses, a dark suit, white shirt and pale blue, silk tie. The heavy gold cuff links matched the watch. To his left, sat Katrine Nielsen - Danish, prim, upright, fair hair tied neatly back in a clasp, in her late twenties and wearing a dark grey trouser suit and white blouse. In front of them, a pile of papers with seven grey folders, a laptop computer and two cups of coffee.
"We'll take the Liberia one first, Katrine," the DG said. "Almost a foregone conclusion would you agree?"
"Yes, I expect so."
"And we'll discuss the smaller, Climate Change one from Yemen last. It looks to me as if it needs more work. Certainly that was Lisa's opinion when I spoke to her yesterday afternoon."
The DG looked at the clock on the wall. The room had been booked until 4pm. It was now nearly 2pm but two hours should be enough to discuss, approve and sign off seven funding applications. He did a quick sum on the corner of a pad.
"Only twelve million, six hundred thousand Euros, so it shouldn't take very long. But not a bad afternoon's work, Katrine. What do you think?"
"Yes, assuming they are all approved," Katrina replied and looked at him as he scribbled over his calculation and obliterated it.
"Where are they?" he asked, meaning the six other officers who's presence was necessary to comply with the procedures for vetting funding bids for international aid.
"Some of them were at an earlier meeting on renewable energy, Mr Eischmann. It should have finished at midday. Perhaps it overran and they were late getting to lunch.
"Phone Carlos, will you Katrine? Tell him we're here and waiting. He needs to get his team working together. Oh, and by the way, about that guy Jan Kerkman. I've spoken to him. He should fit into the team quite nicely."
Katrine just nodded.
At that moment - it was 2pm - the door opened and in came six others, each carrying seven folders. Among them was the tall, athletic form of Jan Kerkman - newly promoted to the steering group.
By 2.10pm, with the essential coffees, teas and biscuits organised around the paperwork, the meeting began.
By 3.50pm Katrine had officially recorded the approval of six funding applications to the value of eleven million, one hundred and thirty eight thousand Euros. As forecast the Yemeni one was deferred on the grounds that it had failed to comply with one pre-set condition. Katrine duly noted that the applicant should be notified and that a re-application with the missing elements in place would be considered provided it was received within three months.
By 4pm, the DG, Dirk Eischmann, was the only person left in the room. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and then got up to look out of the big window and down into the street and heavy afternoon traffic below. Then, gathering his own few papers, he left Committee Room 4/116, took a lift to the sixth floor, swiped his security card over a doorway and walked down a carpeted corridor to a door with a sign over it confirming his name and title.
Once inside, he dropped everything on his desk. Then he opened a drawer, took out a bottle of 21 year old Glen Scotia Scotch whisky and a crystal tumbler, poured himself a glassful and sat sipping it for a few minutes. At 4.25pm he returned the bottle and empty glass to the drawer, got up, closed the door of his office and left the building.
