Football singularity

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[Date: 19/02/2020 | Time: 01:00 AM | Location: Bayer AG Headquarters – Cologne, Germany]

[Earlier]

Entering one of the private offices, Simon wasted no time accepting the laptop on which his assistant had been briefing Chairman Wenning. "Gute Morgen," He greeted the older man across the screen who was in his pyjamas, clearly having been woken from his sleep. For a man in his position who barely got 5 hours of sleep each day, waking him from his dreams wasn't something one would recommend.

"Don't give me that Sandra is glaring daggers at me for waking her up at this ungodly hour." Wenning's voice was gruff, though not without a hint of humour. He took a sip from what looked like a scotch glass, seemingly needing the extra kick to deal with these late-night shenanigans.

"You know I wouldn't have called unless I really needed your help, sir," Simon replied crisply, his tone was light, not at all showing the fear other employees showed the chairman. Most of it had to do with the fact that he worked for a completely different business that ran independently, and another being that the chairman was a big football fan, and he had been exceeding all the goals set out this year.

"As you know, our team is stranded in Liverpool. The UK just arbitrarily suspended outbound flights to several destinations due to the virus, including ours. With no timeline for reversal." Simon replied in slight annoyance after receiving hundreds of bureaucratic hurdles when trying to find a solution. "In response, most of the airports around Europe have followed suit, especially flights from the UK, following Brexit, which has now become our headache."

Wenning exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead before setting the glass aside. "Let me guess. You've already tried the German consulate in London?"

"First thing we did. They're swamped with calls, but when we did get through, they gave us the run around like I wasn't talking about a team worth half a billion Euros," Simon sighed in exasperation, remmebering teh call with the Karen who acted like he had offended her bloodline for asking her to do her job.

"What is it with his team and planes? We might just have to go through with the proposal of a team plane." Wenning off-handedly commented, casually talking about spending millions. "Don't worry, we will get our lobbyist involved tomorrow by the latest, we will have a plane with our people in the air."

"Danke," Simon replied, allowing a touch of genuine gratitude to surface. "If we can cut through the red tape early enough, we might still get them back by late tomorrow night—before the media catches wind of it. They're young, bored, and social-media-savvy… the last thing we need is one of them to hop on TikTok livestream from the Holiday Inn bar."

Wenning chuckled dryly. "Tell two young ones to keep their phones holstered. We don't need them going off on another rant because of this."

Simon smirked. "Too late, Rakim already posted on his story about being stranded in Liverpool. Luckily, it's wholesome, well for us, not so much Liverpool as he insinuates this is a get-back for their loss. Good thing it's late and hasn't caught traction."

Wenning raised a brow. "At least he's got a head for PR just tell him to keep it calm. Keep them grounded, Simon. On both feet."

Simon nodded. "Always." Nоtе: Chесk М_VLЕМРY_R fоr аny соrrесtiоns.

The Bayer chairman exhaled again and stood slowly from his desk chair, cracking his neck as the screen shook slightly. "I'll expect a status update before 07:30. My assistant will loop you in once we get a commitment from Merkel's team."

Simon blinked once, then twice, before nodding in acceptance at the fact that the man was talking about mobilising the head of state. "Understood, sir. I'll stay in the building overnight."

Wenning paused, then added quietly, "Good work, Simon, we really do appreciate what you're doing with the team and are genuinely proud of the culture you're building. Not every MD thinks this quickly—or cares this much beyond results."

Simon offered a respectful nod. "They're not just assets on a balance sheet. I made you a promise when ai took office, and I plan on meeting every last part of it." The call disconnected with a soft click, the screen fading to black. Simon closed the laptop and sat back, eyes fixed on the darkened skyline of Cologne through the office window. For a brief moment, he felt a sense of peace now that someone else was dealing with the storm.

~~~

[Date: 19/02/2020 | Time: 03:20 AM CET | Location: Berlin – Bundeskanzleramt | London – 10 Downing Street | Video Conference: Secure Diplomatic Line]

A faint double chime echoed as the encrypted call connected. The screen was divided into two feeds—on the left, Chancellor Angela Merkel appeared, in a pale blazer, with her hands clasped neatly on her desk. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed how little sleep she'd had. On the right, Prime Minister Boris Johnson, still slightly rumpled in a navy jumper, looked more like a professor in the midst of marking his class thesis papers than a national leader navigating a potential global pandemic.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Premierminister," Merkel greeted, her tone measured and calm, fingers steepled in front of her.

"Angela! Ah—good heavens, yes, morning indeed!" Boris replied, voice booming a little too loudly before he fiddled with his AirPods. "Das ist... frightfully early, isn't it?"

"It is. But not as early as the backlash that will land on both our desks if this isn't handled diplomatically," she said, tone clipped but not unkind.

Boris leaned back, nodding vigorously. "Quite right, quite right. Your man Wenning's been on the line with half my Cabinet. Something about his football team being unable to leave Liverpool, honestly, I don't quite understand what all the fuss is about, planes will fly."

Merkel didn't flinch. "They were meant to fly eight hours ago. Instead, your Foreign Office issued a blanket freeze on all non-essential outbound flights, including medically cleared ones. Now I have thirty-two German nationals—two of them minors—stuck in a foreign country, with no one having a clue on how they will get home."

Boris scratched his head theatrically, seemingly trying to summon the answer out of thin air. "Yes, well. You see, Angela, the trouble is we've got a bit of a... muddle here. SAGE, NHS, Cabinet Office—everyone's got a bloody different graph. One says it's fine, another says the end is nigh, what am I supposed to do? And then there's Gove telling people we're already on fire, which, you know, doesn't help with morale."

Merkel's gaze didn't waver. "I understand your problems since we are dealing with the same issues here, but those are your internal problems. Mine is that if something happens to those players while under your jurisdiction, it becomes a bilateral incident." She stated taking a moment to sip on her cup of tea before continuing. "The Bayer AG group is demanding that your government be ready to take responsibility for their half a billion euro club if anything were to happen to them. "

The latter part of her comment seemed to get the Prime Minister's attention. He blinked, visibly sobered at the mention of "half a billion euros."

"Right. Yes. That's… well, that's rather a big number, isn't it?" he muttered, adjusting his collar like it had suddenly grown tighter, probably resisting the urge to curse a 'bloody shit'. "I mean, crikey, I thought they were just some sprightly young lads kicking a ball, you know I myself am a rugby man. Didn't realise they were carrying the GDP of a small country on their backs."

Merkel merely looked at him with an unamused glance, wanting him to feel some of the pressure she was getting from the pharmaceutical group. People in her country cared a lot about football, especially with a team that was representing them on the European stage. The fact that she was a massive football fan meant she couldn't just ignore it behind diplomatic red tape, even if she wanted to.

Normally, in such cases, the consulate would simply work in tandem with the host country to organise accommodation for their citizens. However, when it came to football teams based in other countries, things became more complicated without even considering the media storm it could kick up. It's for the simple fact that teams would insure their squad when they travel abroad, and them being bogged down here left them at risk.

Boris understood this too, as he would likely have to make a similar call if one of his country's sports teams or artists got stuck in a different country. "Alright. Alright. Look—I'll ring up Grant. Get him to sort a clearance. A Chartered jet, at a private airport near Liverpool and they will be out of my hair."

"With a signed diplomatic exemption," Merkel pressed.

"Sure, why not? We're already rolling out the red carpet, why not go all the way?" He quickly stated not willing to let her make any more demands, already thanking his stars that this unlucky incident was caught early and kept as quiet as possible.

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To Be Continued...