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."

"Thank you again, Brigitte," Lars set off on the familiar walk to the conference room he knew well and liked.

Lars felt Brigitte's eyes linger on him. Glancing at the wall mirrors as he passed, he saw a striking, fit man at 6'3" with golden skin, piercing green eyes, and short salt-and-pepper hair.

He was also generous. Brigitte had been discrete.

He passed the gigantic wooden staircase dominating the front half of the building. The stairs ascended to two additional floors, which housed more meeting rooms and guest rooms. The administrative offices were tucked away at the far end of the third floor.

The arched corridor led into the internal courtyard, now entirely enclosed by the three-story rectangular stone edifice. On the far side of the courtyard was a glass elevator gliding up the palace wall opposite the main entrance.

"Third floor, please," Lars requested of the elevator bank.

A few moments later, the elevator to his right opened, announcing, "Please watch your step as you enter." When it reached the third floor, it intoned, "Third Floor. Please watch your step as you exit."

Lars stepped out of the transparent cage into a familiar hall. Out of force of habit, he found the directions to Salon Broquet on the wall opposite the elevator. He turned to his left and strode down the hall briskly.

He paused momentarily before entering the conference room to mentally prepare for the challenge of refereeing his two "partners" in their secret endeavor.

Omar Gezi and Bert Gheel, the Presidents of the North African and Greater European Water Companies, were the proverbial oil and water.

These two really test my superpower.

People consistently underestimate the power of persuasion. The world thought Lars' power came from his money and position. However, Lars' most remarkable talent was getting others to do things they usually would not do. So far, he'd kept Gezi and Gheel on track but was under no illusions. The two men loathed one another.

Lars strode into the room. Gezi and Gheel were sitting at opposite ends of an elongated oval table in front of the fireplace, directly beneath a massive crystal and gold chandelier. Both men studiously ignored each other.

Lars greeted the two in French. "Bon jour, Messieurs." The two men rose as one. Both stepped forward to greet him. Gezi, sitting closer, reached him first. Lars looked him in the eye as he shook the man's strong, callused hand.

"You are becoming more and more distinguished-looking, my friend," Lars said warmly, addressing Gezi. "A touch more gray at the temples, I see."

Gezi returned Lars' look with piercing brown eyes, "We all can't have the good fortune of two beautiful races from which to draw," he joked awkwardly in English. Less tall than Lars but ruggedly built. Raised in Lybia, he came from a world where mixed-race people were not tolerated. Lars knew Gezi was joking. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

Lars turned to Bert Gheel. Gheel's hand felt soft and small in Lars' own, so he recalibrated.

"How are things in Belgium, Bert?" Lars asked, knowing Gheel could rarely contain himself when talking about himself or Belgium, particularly Brussels.

"Things are quite good here, Lars," Gheel began. "I dare say quite a lot better than either North or South Africa. Of course, Europe has a wetter climate, but even Europe has been dryer than in previous years. The precipitation is moving farther north. But all in all, Europe is fine. "

"Thank you, Bert," Lars smoothly interrupted the Belgian before he got going. He wondered if Bert lived in the city he had just driven through. "That discussion can be had another time. Today, we are here to discuss technology directly in your area of expertise, Bert. I understand you have news for us."

"Yes, of course, Lars," Gheel hesitated and returned to his end of the table. "I am ready. Shall I begin?"

Lars casually pulled out a chair at the head of the conference table near where Bert retreated.

"Gezi, please join us at this end of the table," Lars motioned Gezi toward the seat opposite Bert. Gezi grumbled under this breadth but complied.

"There is no need for us to shout at each other across the room," Lars soothed.

The oddness of this uncomfortable alliance struck Lars, as it usually did when the three met in person: two Africans and a European. Their paths had crossed many times, but their first meeting together was twelve years earlier. The world had just endured its first taste of real nuclear war, and by then, all three had gained control of their respective companies.

Once Gezi settled, Lars turned to Bert Gheel again and said, "The floor is yours."

"Thank you, Lars," Bert responded. "As you both know, to control all new water purification technology, one of my, er . . , our key strategies was to recruit patent examiners at WIPO, the World Intellectual Property Office, as information sources. Coupled with the sources within academia and government research laboratories, we have an unparalleled view of water technology to come. The challenge, of course, is separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak."

"Come on, Bert," interrupted Gezi. "Stop bragging about how brilliant your informants are. What have you discovered?"

Bert bristled at the interruption and then smirked, "Gezi, your patience is legendary. There are sensitivities here, which I'm sure you will appreciate once you have the full explanation. If not, perhaps you have a trusted representative who could stand in for you at these meetings?"

Lars watched the man's face flush as Bert mocked him and quickly interjected. "Patience, Gezi. Bert doesn't get to pontificate often in our meetings. Let's grant him the opportunity to wax eloquent on this one." And turning to Bert, "Do you really need to antagonize him? That accomplishes nothing. Gezi and his people are every bit as important to the success of our purpose as yours. Please continue and try to make it efficient."

Bert was not happy with Gezi's interruption or Lars's reprimand. Lars quietly sighed. Neither man was used to others questioning them. That made these meetings difficult. Even after so many years and so much progress, ego still filled the room. They shared an insatiable need to dominate and control. That passion brought them to the top of the water industry.

Lars smiled at Bert, the gesture having the intended effect. Bert calmed noticeably, and Lars nodded, "Please continue, Bert."

Bert resumed his soliloquy, not realizing Lars' effect, "Alright then. Before I was so rudely," he paused and looked again at Gezi, "interrupted, I was explaining that some of my most fruitful resources are the patent examiners at WIPO. They recently reviewed a new technology coming out of Ghana. Ekow Aboah is the inventor's name, a chemistry professor from the capital city of Accra. He was a child prodigy invited by the Chinese to attend Shanghai University, where he completed his studies, culminating in a doctorate in organic chemistry. He returned to his home university, Ashesi University, to commercialize his invention. From there, he filed his initial patents, now under examination at WIPO."

Bert paused to wipe his glasses before he resumed. Lars could see Gezi's irritation rising.

"Professor Aboah has been attempting to license the technology, but so far, I've been able to thwart his efforts. But not for long. An essential term of each of the licensing deals he seeks is non-exclusivity. He is a do-gooder, wanting this technology to have maximum adoption worldwide. Exclusivity is the least of our worries, Gentlemen." Burt paused for dramatic effect, looking at his colleagues in turn. "The invention is game-changing. Perhaps revolutionary. We must have it, or we must destroy it. Gentlemen, the world as we know it has changed."

"Enough mystery! For God's sake, Bert, get on with it. What the hell is it?" snarled Gezi.

Now, it was Lars' turn to round on the big Libyan. "I never understood where your animosity comes from, Gezi," he said pointedly, letting his annoyance show through, "but this is neither the time nor the place. You're not dodging bullets anymore!" Turning back to Bert, "Bert, please explain what you've uncovered. I am intrigued."