Antiphon: —Payback—

By B. L. Roberts

Swedish engineer Viktor Sorensen is a brilliant man who has a knack of inventing ways to solve problems. Still, his job is not devoid of stress. Traveling to remote places and making a difference is what renews him. Now with his son, Frederik, attending university, Viktor decides to return with his wife, Freja, to volunteer in a familiar Sudanese village. Unfortunately, Viktor has no idea that fate is about to dictate what happens next.

In this international thriller, a billionaire on a quest for revenge after his parents are murdered takes drastic steps that enrage the Catholic Church and force society to adjust to a new normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Apr 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504307475

B. L. Roberts

B. L. Roberts is a retired lawyer. He is the author of four other books and lives with his beautiful wife in New South Wales, Australia.

Book preview

1

V iktor Sorensen stepped out of the trench, and stood back to get a better perspective. It was straight enough, and he was satisfied, as he called out to the young boy watching him work.

Frederik, hold this for a minute, will you?

The lad ran forward eagerly, to help. He grabbed the length of heavy black plastic tubing in both hands, and squeezed it tightly, while his father screwed a fitting on the end.

That’s got it, good lad.

The pipe lay snaked along the ground next to the trench, and now Sorensen dragged it across, and allowed it to drop to the bottom, then paused to wipe off perspiration streaming into his eyes.

Do you think we have time to do another one before lunch?

The boy nodded.

Hm, you would have to say that. Alright, you’re the boss.

Sorensen picked up the shovel, climbed back down into the trench, and started attacking its end. Fortunately, the soil was sandy and quickly yielded to the shovel, and he worked steadily for another half an hour, then again stopped. He dragged a further length of tubing from the wooden cart standing nearby, and again beckoned his son to help.

Sorensen took another fitting from the metal bucket slung from a hook on the side of the cart, and the boy, anticipating what was required, picked up the end of the tube, and held it up for his father to attach the fitting. The extended tubing was dragged across, and into the trench. The furrow he had dug ran down the hill to a treed gully, where a bore, excavated by previous generations, its sides protected by rocks piled up to form a protective wall, was sunk into the ground.

That’ll do for now. buddy. Let’s get out of this hot, bloody sun, and have some lunch. You’ve been a great help Fred. I couldn’t do it without you. Which was not quite true, but the lad beamed with pleasure at his father’s compliment, as he strutted alongside his tall idol.

Father and son walked together from the work site, towards the village higher up the hill, and still almost fifty yards away, nestling against a swarth of green forest. As they approached the bamboo perimeter fence, the sounds of the village, muted at this time of day, began to be heard. Bleating goats plaintively complained to each other about the shortage of good grazing, a mother’s shrill tones castigated a small child for some offence, while a couple of children played noisily together in the village chopal, yelling instructions at each other for the game they were engaged in.

The sounds of life were everywhere. The village was only truly silent at night, when sleep brought peace, and even through the heat of this fierce, summer, midday sun, its beating heart could be felt. Sorensen led his son to a small thatched hut on the edge of the village, and they pushed aside the mosquito netting stretched across the doorway, to enter.

That a man, as successful and respected as Viktor Sorensen, chose to spend his vacations labouring in strange, out-of-the-way places, was often a topic of conversation whenever his name came up. Colleagues shook their heads, feeling sympathy for his wife and young son, who they thought were dragged along by Viktor, though, his friends had to admit, they had never heard them complain, not that Freja would ever complain about her husband. She loved him so completely, she would cheerfully endure anything Viktor undertook, if she thought it made him happy.

No, endured was not the right word to describe how Freja felt about their forays into the back-blocks of some of the poorest places on the planet. She looked forward to them. They gave her more time to be with both her husband and son, even if much of that time meant hard physical work, and she enjoyed what their small family was doing for the villages they visited.

Freja believed in fairness and equality, and although she might not have understood the implications of the description "feminist, she was one. She despised the laziness of so many of the village men, who sat about and talked, while their womenfolk were obliged to do much of the heavy manual work that the very survival of their tribe necessitated. The male attitude of superiority, and entitlement, made her bridle. She saw it for what it was, an excuse for laziness.

She saw red at the bullying tactics of the men towards their womenfolk, and anything Viktor and she could do, to help the women of the village live better lives, was worthwhile. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

One of the most onerous tasks in most villages, and the most essential, was obtaining water, and almost invariably it fell to the village women. It had to be done every day, and often more than once. The first time Freja attempted to heft the big earthenware jug, lapping with the turgid water from the borehole next to the trickling river bed, she gasped at its weight, yet these slender women were able to get it up onto their heads with seemingly relative ease, and carry it back up to the village. Making that task easier for them was what Viktor was about, and Freja was proud of her husband, and what he was doing. She was glad to help.

Viktor also tackled village hygiene. Unnecessary deaths of men, women and the children, dying from diseases brought on by that most fundamental necessity, proper hygiene, stared the Swedes in the face everywhere, and it was a problem that could be fixed. That problem, was the toilet and hand-washing arrangements of the village, or rather, lack of them. Hand in hand with the limited supply of water, went poor toileting habits, the latrine usually consisting of a hole, scratched in the ground, often without any covering, and habituated by innumerable flies. Hand washing was non-existent.

Hey you fellahs, look at all those flies around your shit! They carry that on their feet and put it on your food. You end up eating shit. You come and help me fix that.

Viktor would often get a sullen look of mild surprise, that such an unimportant thing as a few flies should be of any concern, but he would press on regardless. Starting by digging a decent sized pit, he persisted in inviting the men to help, and if he was lucky, some of them would respond and lend a hand with the digging. Once dug, a simple brush wall around the structure, and a thatched roof, served for privacy, but more importantly, kept the flies at bay.

He had designed a simple septic toilet system, and after the pit was completed, would soon would have it operational. Freja, meanwhile, did her best to teach the women the need for washing hands. Their work paid dividends. Return visits to villages, saw marked improvements in general health and well being of the villagers.

Travelling in remote parts of the world, seeing people of differing hues living completely different lives, was an adventure, and young Frederik relished the excitement his father’s vacation forays invariably brought. Hard work invariably came with the deal, and the boy did his best to keep up with his father, with simple tasks.

A remote village in the Sudan, a small township in Bangladesh, another small village in Brazil, and now this one, a little cluster of huts nestled in the heart of the Punjab near Farikdot, in India’s monsoon belt, close to the Pakistani border, were his targets. None of these was a tourist destination, none had even one star accommodation, but they did have one thing in common. The villagers were dirt poor, struggling to feed themselves properly, running water a distant dream as yet unrealised, and their governments too poor, or disinterested, to care.

Viktor was realistic. He understood that the help he brought to a village was minuscule in the greater scheme of things, but for the people of that village, the difference to their everyday lives was incredible, especially for the women. He brought them running water, and better health.

Viktor’s large manufacturing company was recognised throughout Sweden, and indeed the world, for its excellent designs, quality and reliability. Viktor was an uncompromising taskmaster about quality. He would not tolerate sloppiness, or near enough is good enough from his employees, and his products were sought after, by both governments, and private customers, alike. He was a brilliant design engineer, who had a knack of inventing ways to solve problems. Clients would bring a tricky issue to him to be resolved, and Viktor would sit down, study it, then come up with a solution. His company both designed the equipment, and then built it. It held many patents, and some of Viktor’s designs were emulated throughout the world.

In the beginning, Viktor was the principal designer, but as his reputation grew, and the business expanded, he frustratingly found more and more of his time was needed at his desk. He resolved this problem by seeking out bright young graduates, male and female, looking for people with flair and ability to think outside the square, then he would train them to do his design work. His fledgling son saw how this worked.

Getting away from the bustle and pressure, escaping to a remote place on the planet, and making a difference to people’s lives, was what renewed him. Viktor couldn’t leave behind his instinct for seeing and analysing problems, and looking for ways to resolve them. Freja understood this. When young Frederik asked if the family could spend holidays at a resort, with beach, sand, and boats, to be like his school friends, she would gently chide him.

"And when it was over, this holiday of theirs, how different were these friends of yours, than before the holiday, eh? And what difference did their holiday make to other people’s lives, Frederik? Did your friends accomplish anything with their holiday? Did they come home better people? Did they leave other people better off?

"Holidays are a break from what you usually do, giving yourself a change, but they need not be a waste of time. What your father does on his holidays, well, you can see for yourself what he does.

He has a break, he gets away from the factory and his desk, he gets outside in the sun and fresh air, and he gets exercise. He enjoys himself, but he is doing something, Fred, that is good."

Frederik grumbled at first, but gave up protesting, eventually. As he had grown older, his respect for his parents deepened, and the holidays became more meaningful, and something to look forward to.

Fred, what do you think about this? Viktor drew the young lad to his side to display the sheet of paper he had scrawled over. It would be their first, or maybe second day since arriving at the village, and Frederik was still adjusting. His cosy bedroom, with snug bed and heavy pile carpet, had become a pile of rushes stacked against the wall of the hut they had been given, covered with a rough, thick, ex-army grey blanket, that chafed his skin. His feet collected dust whenever he walked barefoot on the packed earth floor, and the walls smelled of the cow dung with which they had been lined.

The bed talked to him, at least, at first Frederik thought so. Every time he moved, it would whisper something, soft creaking rustling murmurs into his ear, as the dried reeds crushed and reshaped under his small body. He got used to it, and in a strange way, it was comforting. His family would share this one room hut for their stay in the village, mostly for sleeping, and sometimes eating, if the mosquitoes were too bad outside. The small smokey fire of dried burning cow dung, would help keep the biting nuisances out of the hut. Viktor saw his family as a team, to be included in the work.

What do you think that is?

Viktor pointed to a cross marked on the sheet, with lines drawn to a number of other crosses.

If these are the huts of the village, what would this would be?

Viktor liked stimulating his young son to think.

Fred slid his finger over the bunch of crosses, then along the line to the single cross.

That’s the water hole.

The village drew its water from a bore. A cow-hide bucket with a mud brick in its bottom, lowered into the bore, was pulled up by a scratchy rope, and emptied into a carrying jug, which the women would hoist onto their heads, to begin the slow, painful, walk, up the hill to the village. One family had managed to scrounge two abandoned old metal buckets from somewhere, and these, tied at each end of a pole and carried across bowed shoulders, cut down the number of trips to the borehole, but were heavy. Sometimes, not often, the husband would be coerced to take the buckets and fetch the water. This did not happen very often. Usually, the laborious task of fetching water, fell to the woman.

Got it in one, you are the clever one.

The boy swelled.

Now, all we have to do is figure out the best way to get the water up that hill. How would you do it?

Fred knew the answer, they had carried out this procedure before. His dad would use one of the pump contraptions he had prefabricated back home, and brought with them.

The bicycle?

Perfect! Good boy. Those pipes we joined together will do it, to carry the water up . We’ll get started on the footings for the pump, as soon as we finish the pipe line.

Viktor had designed a simple generator, spun by a one-wheel bicycle device he had designed, which powered a small submersible electric pump which would be lowered into the bore. Peddling hard spun the bike’s heavy fly wheel substituted for the rear wheel, and this in turn drove the generator. Enough electric power was generated to spin the pump, and send water up the pipeline, to the village.

In larger villages he might use a solar array, which was more expensive, but the bike-driven pump did the job for a small settlement. Villagers made a game of sharing the peddling, which was a doddle for them after carrying the heavy water jugs. They soon worked out, that the harder they peddled, the more water went up the pipeline, and it became something of a challenge. The men also became involved in the peddling. Viktor made a point of equating their manhood, with their ability to move more water than the womenfolk. They fell for this.

Viktor had designed the machine robustly to make it last, with oversize bearings in both crank and peddles. He showed the villagers how to grease the bearings when they started to become noisy. The whole apparatus, packed into a wooden crate, was compact enough for easy transportation to the village.

Frederik was strong enough in the legs, to wind up the fly wheel, and was immensely proud when Viktor gave him the honour of being the first to pump water into the village. The delight of the villagers was Viktor’s reward, and young Fred shared their joy.

Freja recognised how she could also contribute to the village. She spent her time with the womenfolk, showing them how to operate a foot peddled sewing machine she had brought along. Freja scrounged these old machines, which back home were mostly discarded, enlisting the aid of her friends to chase them out, and rarely having to pay for them. They often sat, abandoned, unused, and forgotten, at the bottom of cupboards, and most owners were happy to give up their old relics when they knew where the machines would end up.

Selecting the smartest younger women, Freja would have them sufficiently proficient to make simple clothing by the time her family left the village. She also supplied bolts of cloth and reels of cotton, mostly donated, a few purchased, to give them something to go on with. Her ambition was to empower the womenfolk to make marketable items for sale or trade, and provide a small cash flow for the village.

After their trips, Frederik would return to school, to hear tales of tall snow covered mountains and ski slopes, of warm sun drenched lagoons and beaches. His special friend Olaf’s family, usually took Olaf to Hawaii for school breaks, and his tales of crystal clear waters, towering waves and brilliant sandy beaches, made the young Frederik envious.

His own description of thatched roof huts, and walls made of earth mixed with cow dung, of dusty floors, dry sweaty heat, mosquitoes, and laying pipes in trenches, sounded unattractive in comparison with the glamour of Olaf’s holidays. However, the smiles and gratitude of the villagers, and the friends he had made and left behind, were etched into Frederik’s mind.

As he grew older, Frederik’s passing jealousy of his friend’s glamorous visits to the Pacific, faded. Increasingly, he began to appreciate the simple villagers Viktor and Freja worked with, their dedication to their families, driven by the need to survive, and their sincere appreciation for what his parents could do, to make their lives easier. Fred recognised how such a simple thing as running water, and clean toilets, could transform their lives.

One thing that did occur to him, was the crowding. Villagers made life for themselves more difficult, by having so many children to look after, and feed. There were always lots of children, and he raised this with his mother. Freja explained it to him this way:

Life in the village can be unpredictable. It can be dangerous. Having many children, is one way of ensuring the family can continue. In the village, some children die quite young, and so, too, their parents, compared to Sweden. If a villager gets sick, often there is no doctor, no medicine, and many die from diseases that would be treated easily here. The villagers expect their children to take care of them when they grow old, something that does not always happen here. Here in Sweden, we are protected by our lifestyle and health system. We are very lucky Frederik, to be born in Sweden.

Frederik agreed.

2

T he University of Stockholm can give me that. Why America?

Frederik voice had an angry edge, which he father duly noted.

The family were coming to the end of a summer vacation, which, this year, they had spent in a holiday house they had leased, bordering one of the thousands of lakes in Halsingland, a few hundred kilometres from Stockholm. Viktor did not often take this sort of holiday, but Frederik would soon be leaving for university, and he wanted some quality time with his family. The family was about to leave for dinner.

Viktor was thoroughly enjoying the break, as were the others. He treasured occasionally getting away from the pressures of everyday life, his factory, the demands of clients, and the endless meetings with his staff, sorting out their jobs. In the late afternoons, from Halsingland, the family would make the short drive into Hudiksvall itself, for dinner. Viktor would have some beer with his meal, and afterwards, a schnapps or two. He would spoil himself.

It would still be light when they returned home, the sun did not set until almost ten, and Freja would drive them. There usually was little traffic, and most evenings it was very pleasant, except today. Today, Frederik was being obstreperous. Viktor peered at his wife for an answer, but Freja was staying out of the argument. Viktor put his arm around the young man’s shoulders.

"Stockholm is a very fine university, and yes, it will give you an excellent degree, if you work for it. I have no complaints about our university. It will give you an education, but then what?

"Frederik, this is a big world we are in, and Sweden is only a very small part of it. Your mother and I want you to know the world, to understand it, and have opportunities that are just not available here.

"America is the place. America drives the world, it is the engine room, and it has the best universities. Harvard is the most famous in the world, and it is where you should go. I have spoken about you with my good friend Bryant Robertson, the Ford motor company man, who is very important in his company, and who knows everyone. He assures me you will have no trouble being enrolled in Harvard, he will sponsor you as a favour to me.

Think about it, what it means.

Frederik had thought about what it meant. It meant living in the United States, on the other side of the world, and leaving behind Amelia, gorgeous Amelia. He was only just beginning to appreciate the pleasures those soft curves of hers could bring. He hadn’t known Amelia for very long, but he knew he was in love. If he stayed in Stockholm, Amelia would be here, with him, and they could plan more nights together, wonderful nights.

He also knew he faced a formidable opponent, in his father. Viktor had the infuriating habit of being right, almost always, and he could be very stubborn. It was a quality he had passed down to his son, and Frederik was not going to go down without a fight.

Our university is excellent, so why is it so important I go to America? I don’t want to go. I want to stay home. What is so wonderful about Harvard anyway?

Viktor raised his eyes to the ceiling before answering. He had done his homework in preparation for this conversation, which he had anticipated would be forthcoming.

"Frederik, Harvard has produced so many famous people, so many. Eight Presidents of the United States came from Harvard, over one hundred and fifty Nobel laureates, three hundred and thirty five Rhodes scholars, over two hundred and forty Marshall scholars. Today, it can boast sixty two billionaires, alive and kicking, who were schooled there. Billionaires, Frederik! Sixty two, alive today! Also, so many heads of state have received their education there.

"It is the oldest, but it also is the best, university in America. In the world. And, what is so important for you, and you must understand this, you get much more than just education. You get to meet people there, yes, that is what is so important, the people you meet.

"Frederik, it does not matter how clever you might be, and you are a very clever boy, I have seen this. To really become big in this world, you have to know big people, smart people, and wealthy people. They give you connections. The business world is like a giant octopus, with hundreds of arms, tentacles, and they are connected. They all serve to feed each other. You don’t have to like them, but you have to be able to talk to them, be able to ring them up, and have them accept your call, to discuss plans, ideas.

"These people are the movers and shakers of the world, and more of them will be at Harvard, than any other university in the world. It is where you can network. I am not criticising the University of Stockholm, it is very fine, but Frederik, it is chalk and cheese. Harvard is the best, because it has the best educators, the brightest and cleverest teachers, and the smartest people in the world go their for their education.

It is a research university, and you know what that means? It means they have the pioneers in many fields. It represents the cutting edge, it pushes the limits, and stretches into the future. It makes the future.

As an aside he added quietly, Also, in America, you will learn to speak proper English.

That was quite a speech for Viktor, normally a taciturn man, but he had made up his mind. He decided his son was to have the best possible education his family could provide, and he and Freja were as one, on this. He had to make his son see it, and accept his parents’ advice.

His wife would prefer to keep her son at home, but Freja had to admit, she agreed with Viktor. Harvard would give Frederik the best possible chance to make something of himself, and yes, Viktor was correct. He was a clever boy, she too could recognise that, had always recognised that. They could easily afford the fees, even if he did not win one of the many scholarships on offer from the university, so he should go.

Viktor and Freja had insisted their son attend an international high school in Stockholm, where lessons were given in several languages, but mostly American - English. The family spoke English, albeit haltingly, in India during their trips there, also in Africa, but young Fred, though fluent enough to carry a conversation, had a distinctly European twang to his English words, which he sometimes got wrong. Living in America would fix that, and his parents understood the importance of his being able to speak good English, it was the international language.

Frederik decided it was pointless to continue the conversation. Their minds were made up. He would be going to Harvard. He said nothing further, in sulky silence, then decided he might as well enjoy their trip to Hudiksvall for dinner. He, too, would have some beer with his meal, and perhaps a schnapps. He was old enough now.

3

T he time for him to leave Sweden had arrived. Tears streaked both their faces, as Frederik squeezed Amelia tightly for the last time, then walked resolutely through the Customs barrier to join the boarding queue. Viktor and Freja had said their good-byes, and stood back, to allow their son a few minutes with the pretty girl he had recently brought to their home. They saw only his back, as he was swallowed by the surge, moving towards the boarding lounge.

After shaking his father’s hand several times, and hugging him, then kissing his mother, and making promises to Amelia, and kissing her tear wrecked face for the last time, it was, with a sense of relief, the young man sank into his business class seat, for the journey across the Atlantic. His father had insisted on business class, to spoil him a little, perhaps through a sense of guilt at sending his son away, and although Frederik would rather have had the money in his pocket, he appreciated the space to spread out his long legs.

It was happening, he was going to Harvard. He would meet famous people, rub shoulders with the seriously wealthy, and hopefully, not disappoint his parents, who wanted so much for him. The thought of not seeing Amelia again, perhaps for six months or so, weighed on him, but was assuaged somewhat, by the excitement of what lay ahead. The flight passed uneventfully, and eventually the big jet’s engines backed off, to start the glide into Logan international airport.

My dad still thinks I’m a baby he thought to himself, when he recognised his name held aloft at the check out, by a young man in jeans and sneakers. His guide to the university called himself Tony, and turned out to be an undergraduate, who hired himself out to new arrivals.

Frederik was grateful in the end, because the trip from airport to the campus was bewildering, and then the university itself, overwhelming. Tony showed him around, explained how things operated, then helped him find his accommodation, which was located in a medium rise building not far from the campus.

You’ll need a push bike to get around, it’s easier than trying to find a park. I can get you one if you like, around two hundred bucks will get you a really good one, and you can flog it off, when you are finished with it.

Frederik made the deal. Eventually he found himself in his apartment, again organised by Viktor, unnecessarily large thought Fred, he didn’t need two bedrooms, and the view from the fifth floor was wonderful, but again unnecessary. It must have cost his dad a motza, but wasn’t he here to study, not enjoy the sights?

Still, here he was, and it was certainly very comfortable, in fact, luxurious. His mind flashed back to rush beds on the floor, and smelly walls, and the local native Indians, struggling to get enough food for the family that day. The thought passed, as quickly as it came. He would find a flat mate to share, get back some of the rent his father had forked out.

Again Tony told him how to go about it, posting a notice of