Had it been true

Prologue

A rather old man is sitting in his study on a padded armchair looking at

the computer screen. He's already seen a video in French this morning
from a series named 'Des enquetes impossibles', dealing with advances in
forensic criminology, from blood and ballistics, to psychology and
psychiatry, making it more difficult for criminals to get away with their
crimes. Aside from this type of show, he liked to see videos about the
inside of aircraft cabins. He was particularly fond of one called Pilot's
view', filmed from the cockpit, where one could hear the actual voices
while they were following the air traffic control instructions, or the tower
controllers aiding the plane to line up with the runway, sometimes with
the help of the ILS if the weather conditions called for it. He found this
quite exciting. He would have loved to be inside the big new airplanes,
from the Airbus A800 to the Boeing BO747, with capacity for four to five
hundred passengers in great comfort.

He dreamed of being able to cross the Atlantic, but feared that his
favourite destinations, Argentina or Chile were too far away and as the
flight time lasted about fourteen hours, plus transfer time to go to the
airport, embarking time and luggage collection, making the reality about
seventeen to eighteen hours, he definitely couldn't physically do it
anymore. Perhaps it would still be possible to fly to New York, where one
could get there in half the time. So he kept up hope that maybe one day
soon he could do it. The fact was that he was suffering from
osteoarthritis, and sitting on a plane for hours was out of the question.
Also walking for more than three hundred metres was a little painful.

When he wanted to walk a little more he carried his folding stool strapped
to his shoulder. On these occasions, he would sit for five minutes and
continue another similar distance until he needed to sit down again.
Although he ate less than what he would have like to, his weight increased
constantly. When he retired, twelve years ago, he was physically quite all
right. He used to do some activities, like cycling with his mountain bike
along the perfect 'Green Paths' for about thirty to forty kilometres per day.
He also did some swimming pool maintenance twice a week, and some
golf at the Campano Golf Club, at Chiclana de la Frontera, where he had a
fairly good handicap. It was there he had met his misfortune. Upon
hitting his golf ball with all his might on a swing from the tee, to send it as
far as possible along the golf course, it seems that he had suffered some
serious damage to his lower back.

It was then his pains had started. His first big down-step that had marked
the commencement of his old age. At the beginning he had thought that
it was just a strained back, so he took some aspirin and one of his friends
took him home, where he stayed laying down with a warm electrical
gadget on his backside, but that didn't improve the ache. On the
contrary, for it was then that the pain really started, even in bed. The
next day his wife, Isabel, called the doctor to come home as he could
neither stand up nor walk. The doctor prescribed strong pain killers, but
he said little else could be done. It was not a sprained muscle, but a
hernia or a slipped disk. At long last the local doctor admitted he needed
clinical attention and thus he was finally operated on after more than two
months of daily suffering and injections at home. The operation was
effective and after a while he could walk and go to the toilet without the
help of his wife. He recovered little by little with steady rehabilitation.
However, his main hobby, playing golf, was out of the question. He was
angry and disappointed at the inefficiency of the doctors for having failed
to diagnose a slipped disk much earlier, sparing him months of pain and
inconvenience. He still had to go to the doctor's from time t time, but his
confidence in both his own GP and doctors in general, was very poor. He
generally believed, with a few exceptions, that they were like civil
servants putting in the minimum effort to do the job whilst earning the
highest possible salary.

Following that, he had a few other health problems, but he overcame

those without too much trouble. Now he was moderately happy and had
accepted his shortcomings, resigned to the problems that came with age
and to seeing the world through the 'windows' of his computer, though
sometimes, as in this instance, he was bored and drowsy, his head
dropping nearly to the desk and keyboard, slipping into a long dream-filled
sleep.

Suddenly, he was awakened by a loud 'ping' on his computer. Lifting his

head, he saw that his screen was still playing the slow French video he
had been watching before nodding off. As he continued to watch the
screen, it seemed to change, getting darker and darker, until finally, it was
completely black. He attempted to restart the computer a couple of
times, when ...!

Miguel

It was 24th September 2014 when it all started.

As I continued to stare at my computer screen, it occurred to me that

there must have been a power cut, but then I realised that no, all the
lights were on! I was about to attempt to restart my PC for the third time
when the screen began to turn from black to blue, with a little blinking
point at the upper left of the screen. To my amazement, as if my thoughts
had somehow been guessed, the words 'STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP please',
appeared at the top of the screen.

'Hello! Please wait, I have something to tell you!'

So... I waited. Both confused and intrigued.

'Miguel Velasco?'

'Yes', I typed nervously. 'But...who is this, please ?...'

'Well, first of all, Mr Velasco, let me tell you that you have been chosen
from many other people to be invited to come and take part in an event
that will take place in Britain shortly. Are you with me so far?'
'Yes, though it sounds a little ridiculous, but I'll play along for the
moment... Tell me... Is it a worldwide contest, or just Spain? And how
many people will be attending this unusual event?'

'Well, I'm not playing games with you Mr Velasco. And, as far as I know, at
least for the time being, you are the only one. Would you like to hear
more about it?'

After a short delay I wrote, 'Sorry, I was reading the above, and yes, I
wouldn't mind a more detailed explanation. I understand what you've told
me so far, but, before you go any further, because I think you must be
winding me up, could you tell me your name and on behalf of whom you
are speaking?'

'Fair enough. And, for the record, I'm not winding you up. This is a serious
matter. My name is John Wilburn, and I'm a doctor taking part in the
project. I'll let you know the details of the firm I represent later. Let's
leave it at that for now and speak again tomorrow after you've given it
some thought. I have some incoming calls that I must attend to. How
does that sound to you?'

'Well. OK. Yes, I agree. You've definitely given me something to think

about! John, you said your name was?'

'That's right. It's John to you Miguel. Let's make a date for tomorrow at
the same time, 10:00 your time. Just open your PC on any web page and
I'll cut in, as I did today, OK? One more thing. I must swear you to
secrecy about this. If you mention our chat to anyone, I will know and the
whole thing will have to be cancelled.'

'OK, John, strange as this all seems, I'll be just here on the dot. Bye for
now.'

'Bye Miguel.'

We had been on this strange blue screen chatting for about twenty-five
minutes, and it had left me feeling rather disturbed, my hands shaking.
Of course, it could be a hacker having a bit of fun but it didn't seem so.
He knew my name!

After that astonishing surprise, the rest of that day and the following
morning dragged on painfully slowly.

I wanted to talk about this weird experience with someone, but I

remembered the warning and decided it would be better to keep quiet.
My wife had gone to Madrid to visit our daughter Aitana, as she did from
time to time. It was good for both of us. We had no secrets from each
other, but this time I'd been told specifically not to talk about this with
anyone or this guy John Wilburn would know!

The worst thing was the long night. I had to get up several times missing
the fact that I could no longer have a cigarette, having quit after my heart
attack five years ago. Anyway, unable to go back to sleep, I went down to
the living room, covered myself with a blanket and switched on the TV. It
was four in the morning and I waited, watching some rubbish on TV. At
some point I must've fallen asleep, because when I awoke, it was seven in
the morning. I felt stiff and achy. I went up to shave and have a shower
and then came down to the kitchen to get my breakfast; coffee and
buttered toast.

Around 9:00, feeling a little better, I went down to my study and, although
it was still too soon, switched on my PC. What had I decided? Well,
nothing yet.

I can only say that I was very confused and nervous. If it were true... what
could I do? What kind of project was this? What would I say, or decide?
Again and again the thought came to me that it was all a hoax, and
someone was winding me up. But... what if it wasn't? What if he cut in
like yesterday? Could I take him at his word and agree to follow his
directions? And with what consequences?

It was in this state that I sat there, waiting. At 10:00 sharp, my screen
went black, and after six seconds it turned dark blue, fading to light blue
afterwards, and then the little blink on the top left of the screen, followed
by the words...

'Hello! Miguel?'

Good God! Should I answer him...?... I suppose there's no harm in doing

so.

I began to type. 'Yes, is that you John?'

'Yes, it's me again. How are you? did you sleep well?'

'I've been too agitated to sleep well, as you can imagine. In fact, not very
well and very little. No more than three hours... Could you tell me more
about this?'

'Well, yes, I've checked my diary and I see that I could go down to Seville
tomorrow. As it happens, I have some people there I need to meet. Now,
let us see; today is Tuesday 23rd September.'

'Yes, that's right. I really would need to meet you in person before
making any ...let us say... 'decision'.'

'Fair enough! Let's say tomorrow at Lebreros Hotel in Seville. Do you

know it?'

'Well yes, actually I do.'

'And you know how to get there?'

'Yes'

'Ok, then, we could meet in the hotel hall at noon. How does that sound?'

'Yes, that works for me. I've made up my mind to follow you a little longer
at least. After that, we'll see, but for the moment I'm too intrigued not to.
I'll park the car in the Corte Ingls car park, as it's right in front of the
hotel.'
'Ok then. Wait. Just a sec! Another thing; I have an idea that perhaps
you could consider. You see, I have an appointment with the manager of
the Mercedes car dealership there at 10:00, ...and the idea that just
popped into my head is... Would you by any chance be interested in
swapping your old car for the leased one we have from them?'

'Oh?! Yes! Why not?! But I do have some issues with space in my home
garage.'

'Oh, Well, that shouldn't be a problem. The car I have from them is an
A200, quite small and compact. My suggestion is that you bring your old
car up to Seville and we will see what sort of arrangements we make with
Seor Herrero, the manager of the dealership. And instead of meeting at
the hotel you come directly to the dealership at, say, 10:30. The address
is Vegar. S.A. - Avda.Fernandez Murube, 2 (Pol.Ind.Carretera Amarilla)
Please write it down. Perhaps it would be better for you to ask a taxi driver
to lead the way to get there, or perhaps you could use a sat nav.'

'That sounds fine, but are you sure you'll be able to get a flight for
tomorrow? They do tend to get rather busy towards the end of the week.'

'I'll take care of all that! Though, now I think of it, perhaps it would be
better if I take a flight this afternoon and spend the night at the hotel I
mentioned. And, something quite important. Please note, Miguel. As a
doctor I'm asking you to bring all your medicines and prescriptions with
you. Also a suitcase with clothes for several days, in case you agree to
take up our offer for the project. Again, I must insist that this remains
strictly between us. Nobody else can know anything about this matter.
Understood? The project would be at risk if secrecy were not maintained!'

Oh my God! My suitcase, my clothes and things, plus prescriptions and

medicines. This all seemed so definite, so preposterous, and yet,
somehow it was happening.

'Understood, though it still all sounds rather weird. I mean, why the need
for all this secrecy?'
'I can understand your reservations Miguel, but our protocols dictate that
this is how it's done. Can you agree to comply with the rules, or not?'

'Yes, yes, OK. I'll do as you say and if anything goes wrong I'll call you,
assuming you'll let me have your phone number?'

'Well, sorry to say, but, again, I cannot disclose my mobile number. In the
event that, for some reason, your arrival is delayed, or you change your
mind, you should call Seor Herrero at Vegar, S.A. - Seville, and ask him to
let John Wilburn know what the issue is.'

He typed Seor Herrero's number and I wrote it down.

'OK?'

'All right, John. One more thing before you go. What's the name of that
Foundation or company you're working with? Who's behind all this?'

'Our Foundation is a non-profit organisation offering assistance to those

who would not otherwise be able to afford it, as in your case. We're
currently undertaking a geriatric project called Juve-Nator. I'll fill you in on
the details tomorrow as it would take too long right now. Sorry but I have
some calls waiting. See you tomorrow.'

'OK, Bye for now.'

And with that, my screen went black again, and six seconds later it was on
some YouTube video, or something else I had been viewing before the
interruption, or interference. If you could call it 'interference'. Only a
good hacker could get inside a computer like that.

It was nearly 11:00, we had been chatting for quite a long time. I had to
think really hard what to do. The wise thing to do would've been to ignore
this ridiculous idea, but...it was so attractive...! Firstly, I was very curious,
and secondly, I had promised him what was his name? John? That I
would meet him in Seville at 10:30 the next day. Was there any danger in
keeping that appointment? Let him explain first about why they were
seeking me out for this supposed medical geriatric project Juve-Nator?
What did I have to lose? My life, as it was then, was becoming less and
less satisfactory. I was getting weaker and always found it painful to get
up. For a long time I'd been suffering from tinnitus, a strange high ringing
inside my brain that I had learnt to live with. Also, despite my on/off diet,
I was considerably overweight, which I'd been told was dangerous with my
heart condition. I had to follow a strict diet to reduce my weight so as to
be able to walk and even with that, my arthritis made walking painful.

The last specialist I had visited, not so long ago, clearly told me arthritis
was something that didn't have much of a cure and that I would have to
learn to live with it. The same as with all the other illnesses, aches and
disturbing things that come with old age. With this in mind, I thought...
YES. I should go and be prepared to take him up on his offer despite the
possible risk, for what did I have to lose?

A little later it occurred to me that I had already taken the bait and he was
reeling in the line, with me, the proverbial fish, helpless to escape!

Having made up my mind, I packed my suitcase with some clothes and

shoes, including my various prescriptions and enough of my medication
for about ten days, in case I was approved for the project. If so, I would
have to somehow excuse myself to Isabel. I could say that I'd received a
tempting invitation from some friend from my days as a shipping agent
'Consignatario de Buques', maybe that friend, Captain Yatir? Yes, that
seemed like a good idea. She would be furious, but I decided to go ahead
anyway.

So, the next morning, off I went in my faithful old Toyota. I found the
location, 'Vegar.S.A.', using information from the internet and arrived at
9:50, ten minutes before I was due. I waited, watching people coming in
and out of the premises, but I didn't have a clue what he looked like so I
had no idea who to approach. A little before 10:30 I went inside and
asked for Mr Herrera. The guy at the desk stated rather haughtily that he
was occupied with a client in his private office and that I would have to
wait until he was available. I asked if the client could, by any chance be
Mr John Wilburn from London, and he said, "maybe, let me ask him."
Shortly after that two smiling gentlemen came out to meet me. One was
obviously John Wilburn. A rather handsome looking man with longish fair
hair, who looked to be about forty years old. I shook hands with both of
them, exchanging pleasantries in Spanish, and after some minutes, John
made his excuses to Seor Herrera, (in rather stammering, bad Spanish)
saying that he had to talk privately with me for a short while and then
would resume his business with him. When Seor Herrera had left, he led
me over to the showroom, out of earshot of anyone else.

"Well Miguel, thanks for coming. Nice to meet you in person! Did you
drive your old Toyota?"

How did he know I had a Toyota? I didn't remember mentioning it to him.

Or maybe I had... Well, just as well. Also, he didn't seem surprised to find
me so old and fat, as if he already knew me!

I told him, "Yes, I did as you suggested. I also brought my various

prescriptions and medicines. Though, mind you, I still have some
considerable doubts about going along with this idea. There are so many
things to consider, you understand... my family and my future.

"Yes, of course. I can quite understand why you're hesitating to take this
step. But I'm sure you'll be quite keen once you know more about. As I
told you during our internet chat, I'm a doctor. A geriatrician, to be
precise. I have some years experience in this field, and continuously try
to keep ahead of any new advances in the speciality. Now, let me take a
quick look at your medical reports... Hmmm.... from what I can see here...
my experience tells me that... Well, excuse me for saying it so bluntly, but,
Miguel... with your age and ischemic cardiomyopathy, you could live, all
going well, about a maximum of six more years, though perhaps not in
such good health as you appear to be now. Your arthritis will get worse
and make your life a misery, not worth living once you pass eighty.

That being said, if you come now with me to London you could have a real
chance of living a longer, healthier life. When we get to Heathrow you'll
have to let me carry out a little check-up there. A few quick tests will tell
me whether you're fit to take part in the project. If you're worried about
potential risks, I can tell you that we have an insurance policy worth 1
million, payable to your wife, in the unlikely case that you die while under
our treatment. But we'll go through all that in more detail later.

Now. On a more cheerful note, please, come with me. This is the car I
told you about. A Mercedes A200, with 17,000 kilometres on the clock.
It's on lease from the SSIA, which is one of firms I work with. Do you like
it?"

"Well, yes! Indeed, it is my dream car. Actually I have even thought of

buying one many times, but... you know. I had to be practical and, in the
end, went for a cheaper one."

"Now then. Let's come to the point. I was just talking about the options
with Seor Herrer regarding settlement of the lease. We can either
redeem the company's pending payments now and keep the car, or let
them take it back. The balance in their favour is 12,500, and it's a pity
because it's worth much more. I could lend you the money and transfer it
into your name. How does that sound to you?"

"Well, it looks like a good deal! In fact it sounds wonderful! Though I still
have to see it and figure out how I'm going to pay for it. Anyway,
supposing, as you say, it's worth more and I accept the deal, how can I
pay you back the money, supposing that I go with you to England today?"

"Well, I'm sure you'll like it, and never mind about the money for now.
Let's go and see Herrera now and get it all sorted."

We went, as John suggested, to see Herrera, and Vegar,S.A. paid me

2,500 for my old Toyota. John signed a cheque for 10,000 in their
favour, which left me with a debt of 10,000 to his firm. The Foundation,
as he referred to it. Vegar S.A. committed in writing to keep the Mercedes
A200 available for me until my return to Spain before Christmas. "Before
Christmas?!" I exclaimed. But John waved his hand to calm me down. It
would be ready to pick up then, fully insured and registered in my name.

It was a shining white beauty, six-speed automatic, only one year old...
Strange!... It was as if he'd known I that I specifically been interested in
the A200. I'd actually made several online requests for information
recently.

So, we took the flight he'd already booked for both of us, first class,
arriving at Heathrow at around 19:00 GMT. Both being European citizens,
we passed through customs and immigration quickly. John introduced as
'Michael' Velasco to a person called Jerry, who said "everything's ready, as
you wished, Mr Spencer". 'Spencer?!' Despite my surprise, John didn't
react to being called by a different name and I decided to say nothing
about it for the moment.

We followed Jerry to a small but nicely decorated VIP room. John took a
little case from Jerry, asked me to raise a finger, and then took a small
drop of my blood and put it in a test tube. He passed the test tube to
Jerry, asking him to "Hurry up with it, please, Jerry. You know where to
take it."

Then John asked me to sit down and relax. I told him I was feeling
exhausted, so he gave me a vitamin tablet to pep me up enough to bear
the wait. Some lovely looking stewardess offered us some tea and
pastries and we accepted. Natural VIP courtesy! I'd put my tablet in my
bag, but of course it didn't work without the WIFI code, which a
stewardess soon gave me. I also phoned Isabel and told her half the truth
of what was going on... that I'd probably be back in Seville later that day /
night, that all was going quite well and that I couldn't have refused my
friend, Captain Yatir's, invitation. She was worried about my health and
naturally resentful that I hadn't called her before. It was an effort to get
her to stop arguing, but she didn't go on too much.

John talked and talked about his geriatric clinic, about fifty miles
northwest of London, where I would be looked after properly. I was dizzy
and bewildered by how all this was turning out. I wasn't yet sure why I'd
been chosen for this project, which was undoubtedly very costly. Every
time I mentioned it he said, "Don't worry, Miguel, this'll be paid by a
Foundation with ownership of several firms, among which is the geriatric
clinic." He told me he was an employee of the Foundation and added that
I was getting an offer I couldn't refuse! He was like a magnet pulling me
in. After something like twenty minutes Jerry returned and gave John an
envelope. He tore it open, read the document, and exclaimed, "BLOODY
HELL!!! Here we are, Miguel. It was true! I have the definitive proof now.
Are you sitting tight? Well, then, listen. My name is not John Wilburn,
though I use it when travelling abroad. My real name is Simon Spencer,
and this document says... well... it proves that...that you are my father!...
Do you understand? Meaning that, therefore, I am your son!!!"

"But, but... how?... how is that possible?", I stammered.

"Well, it is possible. It's right here in black and white! Apparently you had
an affair with my mother, Sabrina, while you were working with an agency
in London, and then at some place along the Spanish Mediterranean
coast. Back in 1962, to be precise."

"Ah. Aaahhh...Your mother is Sabrina? The Sabrina Spencer I knew a, a,

a,...Long time ago?!"

"Yes, that's it. But, unfortunately, Sabrina, my mother, died recently.

Actually it was last May 17th, of uterine cancer, which is quite uncommon
for a woman with only one child. She was eighty-one, not much older
than you. I was her only child and she had never wanted to reveal who
my father was. She got what she wanted in life, and was selfish enough
to keep that information to herself. When her illness was diagnosed, she
refused to go to my clinic, despite the fact that I had the means to try to
at least slow the progression of her illness. She was very religious and
repudiated artificial alterations to God's given life in this world. But,
before she died, she called me to her side. She had found her old diary,
and told me... "You have asked me many times about who your father
was, but it didn't suit me to tell you. But, lately, I've been having
dreams... more like nightmares really, about him. Is he alive? And if he's
dead, will he reproach my behaviour towards him. So, before I die, which I
think will be soon now, I'm going to tell you, Simon. Both to find out for
me, and to do what you can for him." And she showed me an old
photocopy of your passport from when you were twenty years old. She
couldn't speak much. I encouraged her to talk, but she would only reveal
a little of that secret part of her life. Her confused ramblings about that
period got suddenly mixed up with blaming herself for her brother's death
in a horse racing accident, and then just as suddenly, she came back to
you again. A boy named Miguel who'd got her pregnant, though, she said,
it hadn't been his fault. She wasn't capable of saying much, due to the
morphine she was taking, but she asked me to find you.

After her death I learnt more about her character from the housekeeper
and the maids, some of whom had known her since childhood and
understood her troubles and her private nature. At some point she told
me that she was sorry she'd left you somewhere, in some Spanish village
on the Costa Brava, for no real reason. If I understood her properly, you
were, at the time, a hothead, too attracted to girls, and prone to
immaturity. However, with time she'd come to think differently and,
towards the end, she thought about the matter frequently. She told me
that you were a good person and made me promise, even including it in
her will, that I would try to find you, and do whatever was in my power to
find out about you, and help you in any way, if that were possible. I
promised. I had the means to trace you from my office easily enough."

"Your office, you say? You have an office and you're a doctor at a clinic?!"

"Yes. I have a company called the SSIA, or the Simon Spencer Intelligence
Agency, which deals with private intelligence. I was curious to meet you
but, to be honest, not all that keen, but... anyhow, I promised her I'd do
my best to find you. Soon after that, she passed away, and then, what
with the funeral, the family and the issues regarding the Will, honestly, I'd
pretty much forgotten that promise. It only came back to me when talking
with your old boss, James Barker, who was also a client of the clinic."

"Well, what a coincidence! James Barker...And how is he now? He must

be over eighty now, isn't he?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I think he's eighty-five. Seven years older than
you now! But still walking straight and strong and looking much younger
than his age. A true example of how you could be following the
treatment!

As you may know, he's a rich man. Our families had known each other
for many years and, when he chose to look into improving his health with
more than simple exercise, he decided to come to Bioclyde. At our first
appointment he confessed to having been curious for many years as to
whether or not I was the son of Sabrina Spencer. His curiosity had been
roused by an obituary he'd seen by chance and he'd been itching to
confirm whether or not I was who he thought I was. He wasn't one to beat
around the bush and asked me straight out if I was her son.

When I said that I was, he went on to tell me a little about her, saying
"Well, perhaps you already know that she worked for the company that I
owned in London, for some time, and then, unexpectedly, disappeared?
Well, there was talk that she'd quit her job due to some secret love affair
with a Spanish guy. Things like that weren't uncommon in those days. We
employed around twenty girls and boys, all with their own issues, and the
matter was soon forgotten. However, many years later, whilst reading the
obituaries, I was shocked to find that on May 17th a lady named Sabrina
Spencer had died at her house in Berkshire, and I started to think that she
could be the same one I had known over fifty years before. And could she
be the daughter of Sir Patrick Spencer, the wealthy land owner of a
Berkshire estate, with whom my father, William (Bill), had worked for
many years? So, the likeable Sabrina was a rich girl from the Spencer
family estate in Berkshire, working below her social class."
"Therefore, you see, Miguel, after that first talk with James Barker, I
couldn't let it rest. I had to know who had fathered me!"

"Yes, of course, of course. It was me it seems! As you've proven by the

DNA test, just now."

"Right, though before the test I was not at all certain about the result. It
could always have turned out to be some other guy, although all the
information pointed to you."

"So", I replied, thinking out loud, "with James Barker's help it was logical
for you to conclude that your father was the Spanish guy that he'd sent to
Palamos with her sometime back in April 1962. But as you weren't one
hundred per cent sure you had to look into it further, and that would've
reminded you of the nearly forgotten promise you'd made to your mother.
I suppose it was easy enough for you to find me with an intelligence
agency at your disposal, plus James Barker's help. I'd visited him at his
Swindon manor house in August 1988, along with some friends, and then
he'd visited me at my home in Cadiz. How do you find my theory Simon?
The world is a small handkerchief, we say in Spain."

"But... what my mother never got around to telling me is how you and
she... you know...?"

"I'm sorry Simon, but I'm dead tired right now. I have to take my pills with
some food and go to bed. I'd much rather tell you all about it once I'm
well-rested."

"Yes, yes, of course. I understand. You ought to have a rest before

anything. I can wait."

I thanked him and told him, "you've done what you promised to your
mother, to find me and do something for me. For that I'm grateful and
you've fulfilled your duty, but let me think about it tonight. I'll have to
think it over."
"Right, we'll see tomorrow. Here's Jerry with the room key. Let's go to the
lift together, just you and I, shall we?"

"OK. I'm just going to pop to the coffee lounge to get a sandwich and a
glass of water to take my pills."

"Oh, no, don't worry about that. Let's go up to your room together. Jerry's
already ordered some sandwiches from the cafeteria and they'll bring
them up. Here we are, this is it...room 227. This room is completely
acoustically insulated from all the airport noises, so you should be able to
get a good night's sleep. It's quite nice, isn't it? I'll take a beer from the
icebox, but you'd better not. Eat your sandwiches with water and take
your pills, and in a minute I'll give you an infusion, just before you get into
bed, and you'll sleep like a log."

I was really tired and did as he told me. I got ready for bed, while Simon
prepared the drink he'd mentioned. It was quite tasty and I drank the
whole thing down quickly. After that, Simon left me and I got into bed. I
was laying there, looking up at the ceiling and thinking what a strange day
it had been. I can't have been in bed long, when I fell deeply asleep.

I woke up the next morning in that fantastic room, around 8:00, feeling
quite recovered! In fact, I felt better than I'd felt for a long time. Maybe it
was something that Simon had put in that brew before going to bed. I got
ready and then waited for someone to contact me. After a while I was too
hungry to wait any longer so I ventured out to look for the coffee lounge,
or dining room. I put the key card to the room in my pocket and took the
lift down to the lower floor where I found the restaurant with a fine buffet
on one side. I showed my key card to the steward and chose a table. As
usual, I overfilled my tray and then sat down and began to work my way
through the delicious food. The waiter brought me the coffee and some of
those little pots of milk. It was nearly 9:30 by the time Simon came into
the restaurant.

"Good morning Miguel! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, John...Oh! I mean, Simon. I think the stuff you gave me last night
knocked me out completely. I slept like a dead man! I remember you
sending Jerry away and preparing that concoction for me to drink, but I
remember nothing after drinking the stuff. What was in it? Some kind of
strong tranquiliser?"

Simon confirmed my suspicions and asked me if I'd had time to consider

his offer.

I told him that naturally I had thought of nothing during the night, as I was
out for the count, but that I'd been giving the matter a lot of thought
during breakfast. I said, "I'd be happy to take the chance, provided I have
the right to back out at any point should I change my mind or if there's
anything that I'm not comfortable with. If you agree to that condition, my
answer is yes!"

Simon accepted my condition, congratulating me on my bravery, and then

asked, "could you now tell me the story of my mother's affair with you? It
strikes me as odd that she would consent to a physical relationship as she
was known to be introverted and sex-shy. She must've been in love with
you! How did it happen?"

"Well, if you insist. Here goes! I'll try to keep it brief."

And so I began my story.

"I started working with Coopervilla in the 3rd week of November 1961, as
a result of a chance meeting at Piccadilly. There I bumped into a fella I'd
met at a meeting we'd had at Cafe Paris, in San Sebastian, during the
summer of 1960. His name was Victor Fernandez, a lawyer who was
assisting James Barker with a contract with the Blue Cars agency, with
whom I was then working. James gave me his business card saying, "in
case you ever come over". After that meeting in San Sebastian, in July I
think it was, I carried on working with Blue Cars until the last group of
English tourists left for England. I was given permission and I travelled on
the bus with them, being met at Victoria Bus Station by Mr and Mrs Hill
and their daughter Penelope. Well, coming to the point, thanks to that
chance meeting I was engaged by Coopervilla, and being a hard worker
and performing my duties well, I was trusted by both James and his
partner John Cooper. At the end of April 1962 several people were
dispatched to the various places where Coopervilla had rented properties.
At La Bretagne, La Riviera, La Cote dAzur. And ... unexpectedly, James
called me to his office, and asked me if I'd be willing to go to Spain, to
the Costa Brava, together with Sabrina Spencer, whom I knew from the
office but hadn't talked to very much. To be honest, I wasn't at all
attracted to her at that time. I accepted the offer, with pleasure, and
asked how we would get there. James replied that we'd go by car, a
Morris, usually kept for client rentals, and that Sabrina and I could share
the driving through France. He assured me that she was a good driver.
He told me we would leave as soon as all the papers were in order and
once Montserrat had made up her mind.

"Montserrat who??", I asked.

"She's the daughter of a Spanish agent, a friend of mine, and she's been
working as an au-pair in my house looking after our children."

After that, I spoke to Sabrina about the trip, and although she seemed
dubious about it, eyeing me with obvious distrust, she agreed. We left
London the last week of April with the lovely Montserrat in tow. She was
not particularly enthusiastic, but her parents had asked her to come
home, if James and his wife didn't have any objection.

With Sabrina at the wheel of the Coopervilla Morris, complete with

company logo, we left London for Dover at 7:30. By noon we were
queuing for the ferry at Dover harbour, and around two in the afternoon
we had arrived in Calais. We'd had some sandwiches on the ferry, which
weren't too bad. We disembarked, and as she seemed to know her way
quite well, I let her drive through until we found the right road South-East
towards Paris. Then I took over, and gave her the task of studying the
road map. I remember she was rather bossy, and told me she thought
going through Paris would delay us a lot due to the heavy traffic, so we
should take the N31 instead. More mileage but less time, she said. I had
to agree, as I didn't know where I was heading. A couple of hours later,
about five in the afternoon, she said to watch out for the N31and N145 in
the direction of Rouen Evreux. It was already 18:00 when we turned
onto the N145 and we were getting rather tired. We'd been on the go for
over twelve hours at that point! Coming into Evreux, Sabrina driving, we
stopped to fill our petrol tank. She asked the pump man, in quite good
French, to recommend us a hotel in the town. The man was not very
friendly, but said to try Hotel Portell, just before the town itself. So that
was where we stopped. I checked into one room and the two girls into
another and then we went to get our things from the car. There was no-
one around and we figured that, as it was a Wednesday evening, it was
unlikely that there would be people around during the night and therefore
our bags would be quite safe in the boot of the car.

We were so tired that we just threw a blanket over our three suitcases in
the car, and with a small bag each, went up to our rooms. We had dinner
at a restaurant close to the hotel and were quite happy with everything
running according to schedule. I was woken briefly around 1:00 by the
sound of glass breaking, but didn't think of the car parked quite safely
close to the hotel entrance. It wasn't until around 8:00, whilst having
breakfast, that we noticed through the hotel windows people passing
along and looking intently at our car. We realized something was wrong
and ran outside. Disaster! They had smashed the back glass pane. The
blanket we'd spread over the luggage was thrown on the dirty ground and
our three suitcases were gone. We went to the police and Sabrina was
eventually able to make them understand what had happened.

They sympathised and were very understanding, but couldn't do anything

besides give us a report for the insurance and the address of a garage to
replace the broken pane.

We were lucky to find the garage opening before 9:00 and we got the
pane replaced by 10:00. We were all pretty pissed off at that point and
left the wretched town of Evreux still having to cross nearly the whole of
bloody France! It was Thursday. There wasn't much traffic on the road
and we made quite good time to the Spanish border town of La Junquera.
We drove towards Gerona and stopped to have an early dinner at around
18:00. On leaving the restaurant, we were stopped by two guys in suit
and tie, waiting by the Morris. They asked us for our passports and the
papers for the car. After a lot of faffing around with the documents, they
said we had to follow them to the Inland Revenue building, quite close by
and, chatting happily, they said that our car would probably be
confiscated for carrying out illegally activity! As you can imagine, we
were now more than pissed off! Firstly with our bad luck of choosing to
stop in that blasted French town and now for stopping in Gerona when we
could've carried on through to Palamos. The tax inspectors were kind
enough to let us use the telephone and Sabrina decided to call the lawyer,
John Connolly, in Barcelona. Thankfully she got through quite quickly!

Apparently he did his job rather well for about thirty minutes later one of
the tax office guys came over with a piece of paper in his hand. "Well,
here you are. A provisional permit to work with this car in Spain. You can
go now." It was a mystery how Connolly had managed it, but we were all
very thankful. Very relieved, we continued on towards Palamos, where we
arrived around five o'clock in the afternoon on a beautiful warm day.
Sabrina drove to Carmen, the local agent's house. She was a widow of
about forty-five, who made her living selling souvenirs and with the rent
and sale of apartments.

Although tired, I was enjoying the lovely view of the port and the long
sandy beach. We had to wait a little while for Carmen who came hurrying
to welcome us. She'd been having a drink with some friends, she said,
when we passed in front of the terrace she was sitting on. Sabrina knew
more or less where we would be staying, but Carmen got into her car and
led the way to a house two streets up on the side of the hill, in the East of
Palamos.
Montserrat called her parents from Carmen's office. They were annoyed
with her for some reason she didn't explain. She had to go back to
Gerona immediately and then take the train from there to Barcelona.
Carmen said that it was too late to leave at that point as the local bus has
already left. We were all exhausted, and it getting late. There was the
option of a taxi, but that was too expensive. Ultimately it was decided
that it would better for Montserrat to leave the following day. As I knew
Sabrina had some urgent business to attend to, the Casanova in me said
that it would be a good idea for me to drive her to the Gerona station
where she could then choose the train or the bus to Barcelona. Though
Sabrina didn't object openly, her face showed she was against the idea.
However, being an intelligent woman, she could see that while Montse
was about, the local bus for Gerona being at 16:00 the next day, I would
not be paying much attention to the things we had to work on together
and, unwillingly, she consented.

The apartment was in a newly built house, with three bedrooms, a kitchen
and a bathroom, all quite neatly furnished. We all went to have dinner at
a nearby bar / restaurant, leaving our Morris safely in front of what was
going to be our house for the next few days.

At Giusepe I had the best meal I'd had for a long time and then headed
back to the house feeling full and tired. We went to bed soon after getting
back so as to make an early start, setting the alarm for 8:00.

By the time I was up and ready to go, Sabrina was already in the kitchen
preparing breakfast, but there was no sign of Montserrat. I went to the
bedroom and she was still sprawled in her bed half naked. I tapped her
shoulder and she rolled towards the wall, mumbling something I couldn't
understand, with the whole lower part of her body exposed. At that point,
Sabrina shouted for us to come down, interrupting my admiration and
waking Montserrat.

As planned, I drove Montserrat to Gerona and left her there with some
regret, as she was pretty and though only seventeen years old, she was a
born tease. She confessed she was quite aware that I'd been looking at
her bare body whilst trying to wake her up. Well, yes, she was sexy and I
liked her and although she also liked me, we hadn't had the opportunity to
be alone together. She looked very attractive with her tight jeans and
jersey showing off her young beautiful body. At the train station we said
goodbye. "See you soon", she said. "I hope you come to Calafell soon",
and I sincerely hoped that would be the case!

By early afternoon I was back in Palamos and Sabrina and I got together to
figure out who would take care of what and in what order. We decided
that she would deal with the properties and clients north of Palamos,
whereas I would take care of those to the South, as far as Lloret. It worke
out at something like twenty properties each.

While I had been in Gerona with Montse, Sabrina had bought and prepared
some nice salad sandwiches and other snack foods along with a few
beers. She was going to sleep in the bedroom with the wider bed that I'd
used first, though it lacked sheets and a pillow case, and I would sleep in
the room with twin beds that she and Montse had occupied.

Now that Montse had left, Sabrina seemed much more attractive to me!
She had seemed plain to me initially, but that was largely because she
always chose clothes far too baggy for her, and no makeup at all. It was
as if she couldn't care less about being sexy or attractive to others.
However, she was a responsible and intelligent girl, and I enjoyed talking
with her. She was older than me, but only by three years and it turned out
that we shared the same taste in books and music.

That night we spent the evening reading and listening to some music on
the radio we had borrowed from Carmen. We didn't talk a lot, but kept
looking at each other a little embarrassed for this was the first time we'd
been alone together. I went to bed first, choosing the bed against the
right wall so I could get up with my right leg to the floor, a habit I had and
still keep. Besides, it didn't smell of Montse's perfume and was therefore
better for my state of mind! It must have been the one Sabrina had used
the night before. I heard some noises in the other room and thought
perhaps she had managed to find some sheets and didn't wish to sleep in
a bed that smelt of me, though I had showered when we arrived the day
before. After a while everything went quiet so I assumed she'd gone to
sleep.

I myself was having trouble sleeping and was just thinking of getting up
and going down to the kitchen when suddenly I heard my door being
opened and there she was, wearing a sheer nightgown that did little to
hide her body. I could see her curves silhouetted through the thin cloth by
the light coming from behind her. I couldn't help but feel aroused. She
apologised softly for disturbing me and said she'd left something in the
room and perhaps it was under the bed.

She knelt down, searching. After a minute I reached out and touched her
bare shoulder, and she shuddered but didn't move. Soon, shivering she
accepted my hand as I guided her to lay down beside me. To begin with it
was just a tight embrace, but soon we were touching skin to skin and
pulling off what little we had on. Of course, we made love. Two or three
times during that first night. We'd sleep for a while and then one or other
of us would wake up, hungry for more. It was a fantastic night, unspoilt by
dreams.

I awoke with the strong Mediterranean light at 10:00, alone. Had she
gone back to her room to sleep a little, or was she up and about already?

I washed and later met her in the kitchen. Neither of us made eye contact
at first. Was she embarrassed by what had happened? Not me! I was
happy as a lark. She was wearing her usual baggy, dark slacks and big
white blouse. That night I'd been surprised to find that she was not fat at
all. In fact, she had a superb strong, lean body, legs, waist and breasts
included. Why did she hide it all like that? Perhaps she had a complex
about her weight, imagining herself to be fat, or maybe she wished for
bigger breasts? Probably both. The mysteries of the female gender!
I went over to where she was standing, by the sink, and 'accidentally on
purpose' bumped into her backside, saying jokingly "oops, sorry Sabrina".
That was enough to break our shyness barrier and we burst out laughing
and started kissing. It was with some effort that we broke apart and
decided we had work to do. I washed up the breakfast things while she
made the bed and then prompted me to get a move on and go with her to
Carmen's office and call London to check with them that everything was
going well. "Wasn't it?" she uttered coyly.

Sabrina talked with James Barker and explained our idea of splitting the
areas of action, and that she thought I was up to it. He told her to hire a
small car for me to get around. Then I suddenly thought of my motorbike
sitting idle and costing me money in a garage in San Sebastian. She gave
me the phone and I explained my thoughts to James who liked the idea of
using a bike to navigate the twisted roads. I said I'd go and get it, but that
the journey to there and back could well take me over two days.

He told me to take an overnight train from Barcelona to pick up the bike,

saying he supposed I could make it back in under two days. He also told
me they had raised my wages from 18 a week to 24 and included an
allowance to cover the expenses incurred on the trip, such as petrol,
meals and the increased mileage on the bike.

I told him I was very happy with that and asked, "what about all our
luggage that was stolen in France?"

To my relief he told me that we were covered by travel insurance and that

all I had to do was supply him with a list of the things that had been taken
and he'd be able to register a claim with the insurance company. We
decided it would be best to send a brief description by telegraph and later
to send a more detailed letter with the French police report, including
details of the value of each item.

He added that I would need to open a bank account there in Palamos so I

could receive the money directly but told me to be sure to check all my
expenses with Sabrina. I told him I would get those things done that day
and also buy some new clothes as we'd been left with almost nothing after
the theft in that sodding town of Evreux. He told me that was fine, but not
to spend too much as the insurance company would no doubt try to
wriggle out of paying the full value of the lost items, being a bunch of 'con
artists' themselves!

After speaking with James, Sabrina immediately got in touch with

Monserrat's mother Lola and asked her to send the details of Montserrat's
belongings as soon as possible via telegram to the Palamos Post Office for
her attention. Between us we worked out the value of the things that had
been taken. It didn't account to much really. Shoes, books, clothes... The
most valuable thing to me was my address book with all the phone
numbers of my friends in England compiled during the last three years,
and it saddened me that it was gone forever. The final sum for me was
around 150, whereas Sabrina's came to twice that.

We were now a little more relaxed with each other, though neither of us
mentioned our 'encounter'! There would be no opportunity for a repeat
that night as I had to take the 16:00 bus to Gerona. Fortunately Sabrina
had a better idea. She would take me direct to Barcelona and from there I
would take the express night train to San Sebastian. This gave us a little
extra time for ourselves. It wasn't as explosive as before but very
enjoyable nonetheless, reaffirming our feelings. Later, happily sated, we
washed and went back on the road with our reliable Morris 1000. It took us
nearly three hours to get to the train station. We kissed passionately. A
promise of better moments to come in a few days time.

"You will call me at Carmen's, if anything prevents you from returning

quickly as planned?" she asked me, suggesting, "perhaps you might like
to take a bit longer and spend some time in your home town?"

I reassured her, saying "What do you mean Sabrina? Don't be silly! I have
a job, and I have you! I promise! I'll be back as soon as possible and I'll
give you a call either when leaving San Sebastian or once on the way."
Then we had to discuss the matter of money. I had only 800 pesetas, plus
200 and I would need to pay for the train ticket, the garage and then buy
some bike gear for the long trip back: a helmet, glasses and a jacket, and I
didn't want to ask my father or brother for it. Sabrina gave me an
envelope with 3000 pesetas and told me to wire her at the Palamos post
office should I have any unexpected problems or incur any additional
costs.

"Aren't you going to see your family once you're there?" she asked.

"No, no. Don't worry. Since my mother died, the house and the family
just broke up, and I'd prefer not to ask them for anything. I don't think I'll
even go to see them this time. I want to limit all my time there to
rescuing my motorbike and buying the few things I'll need for the trip back
here and for travelling to and fro along the coast, as James told me would
be my main job."

Sabrina noticed that the ticket window was opening so we went to buy my
ticket. Around 20:00 she left, eyes shining, a few tears escaping before
she could wipe them away. I had to push her to go back.

"Come, come now, Sabrina, you must get going before it gets dark on the
road back to Palamos."

"Don't worry, April days are long. I'll get there before dark. Goodbye
darling."

At 23:30 the train pulled out from the Estacion de Francia. The attendant
asked me if I wanted my bed made. I agreed and then went promptly to
bed. What a fantastic discovery with Sabrina! I was almost certain we'd
resume what we'd started when I got back. I slept more than I'd
expected, and at about 8:00 the coach attendant knocked on the door. It
was Monday 30th April 1962. I had quite a nice breakfast at the station in
San Sebastian, my home town, and before 9:00 I was at Garage Aracama.
I was surprised to see that the driving school where I'd learnt to drive
when I was eighteen years old was still there. And there was my nice
'Wendy' bike; I paid the manager 350 pesetas for the long stay of my
motorbike, since 1961. They steam cleaned it for me and checked the
tyres, before explaining how to get to a place where I could buy bike
accessories, which I found without too much difficulty.

I bought a helmet, glasses , gloves, and a leather jacket and trousers

which they had on offer, all for less than 2,000 pesetas! Dressed in all my
new gear I left San Sebastian for Palamos on that same day.

Soon after leaving Pamplona for Zaragoza, I began to feel a little tired.
No wonder really, for I'd been riding an adrenaline high for the last two
days. It was quite dark before I got to Zaragoza and I stopped at a nice
roadside hotel before 22:00 to rest, have some food and stay overnight. I
parked the bike in a garage they had close to the hotel's sidewall and
asked for a wakeup call at 6:30.

I had a coffee and some toast for breakfast and then headed on towards
Barcelona. Los Monegros was most trying and boring. The road was
nearly empty, but badly kept and full of potholes. I had to really
concentrate and reduce my speed to about eighty kilometres per hour.
The province of Lerida had better roads. I stopped there for about thirty
minutes to eat something at a roadside bar, and then continued on the
N12 towards Barcelona. Before arriving there, at a fork, I had to turn left
to Costa Brava, which I already knew quite well.

I called Carmen's office and asked her to pass the message on to Sabrina
that I expected to get back around five in the afternoon. We had expected
the trip to take around twenty-four hours, and so it did.

In Palamos I went straight up to our 'house', thinking I would probably

have to go down to Carmen's for the keys, but Sabrina was already inside.
She opened up her arms and cried my name, "Miguel!" We hugged for
quite a long time before going inside. I took off my bike gear and laid
down on her bed.
She had to restrain me! She told me to take a shower first, or better, eat
something, then take a shower. Despite being practical, her look
promised me that we would celebrate our reunion soon enough! And
indeed, we did!

The sky was getting dark except for the beautiful sunset far over the sea
when we went out to take a walk. She asked me to wait for her to get
ready. Good God! How she had changed! She was wearing light makeup,
and had on a pair of tight jeans and a lovely figure-hugging top that
enhanced her lithe body. With that and the makeup she was quite
changed for the better! In my eyes she had become a very attractive
woman and I could hardly remember that I'd thought her plain before,
when she had been reserved and almost moody.

That May was almost perfect. We didn't neglect our work, but as soon as
we'd finished arranging things for the coming summer, we'd hurry back
from wherever we'd been, both eager to embrace and make love. Time
always flies when you're having fun and, as such, the first three weeks of
May disappeared far too quickly. Our work was carried out as planned,
ensuring that all the properties were fully equipped and functional. Then
we'd shower, cook and go to bed, not necessarily in that order. We usually
ate at home, but sometimes we'd go out to Giusepe's, the bar / restaurant
next door to Carmen's, and have a drink and chat on the terrace
overlooking the port. Our love-life was going as well, or better, than at
the beginning. She told me she was on the pill, so I didn't worry about
anything at all.

Then, 'DISASTER!' Without warning, on May 28th, a girl arrived from

London. Not just any girl, but a stunning beauty. She was a Swedish
photographer, named Else, and had been engaged by Coopervilla to take
pictures of the houses that we'd rented of late and had not been included
in the brochure. She had short blond hair and was very chatty and
friendly. Her English was of course better than mine, at that time.
Sabrina knew someone was coming to do the pictures, but not in the
shape of that female hurricane, who was to so completely alter our lives.
We had plenty of work on our hands inspecting the properties that would
soon receive Coopervilla's clients, and as Sabrina was supposed to take
Else around the next day so she could take the required photos, she
wouldn't be able to go to La Escala to meet some owners. She seemed
worried about that and I, on the spur of the moment, suggested that
perhaps I could take her on the motorbike instead. "What do you think
Sabrina?" She didn't say anything at first, but I could see her cheeks
flushing. She turned her back on me, clearly annoyed. Indeed, she could
clearly imagine me licking my tomcat's lips with the thought of Else
leaning on my back. She was going to refuse my idea, and started to
mutter, "No, I'll...", when Else cut in, "Oh, yaahh! I'd love to go on the
motorbike with this kind of weather, Sabrina. Do you have saddles to
keep my cameras in, Michael?"

"Yes", I replied. Else was the first to use the English translation of Miguel.

"So, you agree, Sabrinaaa, darling? Could I go with Michael to take the
shots of the houses?" And so Sabrina was trapped. How could she say
no? Else had come with a letter signed by John Cooper, James' partner,
asking Sabrina to give her all possible help and assistance and, quite
naturally, Else took this for granted.

The next morning we left on the bike, with a list of twelve properties to be
photographed, to show them in the best possible light, as only a
professional photographer can do. To start with, Else gripped the seat,
keeping a distance between us, but soon after the first tight bend we
realised we were not well balanced, and I asked her to hold my belt and
come a little closer. She obeyed readily, and it would've been practically
impossible to get any closer than that. She clung to my back, which felt
wonderful. As it was a warm day, we were only wearing jeans and shirts
and no helmets.

In that way, we got on with our work, me driving the bike, and she taking
the pictures. The experience was both good and bad, if you know what I
mean! I was all too aware that I had her riding pillion and felt quite
turned on, feeling her breasts pressed against my back, our bodies
pushed even closer with the breaks and potholes in the road. Else had
transferred her grip to my waist allowing me to risk my driving somewhat
by caressing her upper left thigh, which she didn't seem to mind! She was
quite a tease but despite my efforts, she wouldn't let me go any further
than kissing and fondling. However, she responded enthusiastically,
allowing me to hope that it could go further!

When we got back to the house in the late afternoon, Sabrina wasn't there
and we took a walk down to the port to look for her, thinking that perhaps
she'd be at Carmen's office. No one was there. We had a drink at
Giusepe's terrace and waited, basking in the beautiful, warm sunset. She
took her shirt off, revealing her tiny pink bra, both inviting and teasing
me. I was bewitched by her beauty, and so hot for her that I even dared
to suggest we, "go somewhere to, you know..." I didn't say the words, but
my meaning was clear!

"I know what you mean, Michael, and I'd like to, really. I wish it to were
possible because I like you too, but I'm afraid I can't. I shouldn't have let
us get carried away. It must be this climate. I admit that I enjoy being
playful and sexy, but I don't usually take it so far. Really, I am quite liberal
up to a point, but I must tell you I'm faithful to my boyfriend. I never go
all the way with anyone else. I'm sorry. Besides, Michael, you and Sabrina
are together, aren't you? No use denying it. I could see it since my arrival
yesterday afternoon. I read the signals. I'm not an idiot. Sabrina will be
angry at you because of me, won't she?"

"Yes, yes. I know you're right, but just now I couldn't care less!"

"Well, you should! I hope you guys are able to make it up when she
comes back or after I've gone. I had an idea to stay one more day but I
think I'd better leave tomorrow. I could take a taxi, but perhaps she'll
want to take me to the station."

I agreed to take her advice, but when Sabrina finally came back, she
looked at me in such a way that left no doubt she was angry. I wanted to
greet her as usual and tell her about the bike trip. I already had a guilty
conscience and maybe she could read it on my face, for I believe she
imagined more than what had actually happened. I wanted to speak. To
defend myself. But I didn't know what to say. Anyway, she didn't even
look at me. How could she have known what had taken place with Else?
Did she have a sixth sense? She called Else up to her room and must
have talked there of our trip. Who knows what else they discussed!
Perhaps she'd seen us kissing when we stopped to have a drink on the
way to Palamos.

Sabrina never gave me a chance to say anything! I felt ashamed, though

if I'm honest, I regretted more being caught than anything else. Specially
as I hadn't done anything really naughty. Given the result, it would have
been better for me if I had. At least then the crime would've been worth
the punishment!

I unpacked my saddle bag, taking out some sandwiches and beers that I'd
bought earlier and Sabrina and Else took them, without saying 'thank you',
and went and ate on the terrace, chatting away, leaving me out. That
annoyed me quite a lot, so I went for a walk to clear my head and had a
snack at a bar. Later that night Sabrina refused to let me go to her room.
She told me, "you have what you deserve Mr." So that night I had to use
the spare bedroom and make up my bed.

I was frustrated, suffering from what they call 'blue balls' and couldn't
sleep. Later, past midnight, I got up and tried the door to Else's room.
Sabrina, who must have been watching and expecting this, slipped out of
her room crying and shouting all kinds of insults at me. "Go wank yourself
off in the loo you bastard!" was about the nicest thing she said to me.
Else's door was ajar and I could see, over Sabrina's shoulder, through the
crack in the door, her sad face. I supposed she was now regretting having
used me as a plaything.

The next morning, having hardly slept, I took off to inspect a property in
Lloret de Mar. I checked that everything was clean and that the place was
fully stocked with the correct utilities and utensils, including two full
butane gas bottles, ready to receive a family of four who were arriving
soon.

So, when I went back Else would not be there. Though Sabrina and I loved
each other, this mistake was the end of our relationship. The damage was
done. Some days later, with Sabrina still in a mood, not wanting to talk to
me about my misdemeanour with Else, she merely said she had received
instructions that I should go to Barcelona to see John Connolly at his
house, La Casita, in Pedrabes, North of Barcelona. She asked me to hand
all my visiting reports over to her, and all pending matters, and to leave
before the weekend.

I wanted to talk with her, to beg her forgiveness, but it was useless.
She'd become a stranger with her baggy clothes and dark circles under
her eyes. I kept asking her what the matter was. I had assured her that
nothing had happened with Else besides a bit of a kiss. A measly
meaningless kiss! And I had apologised for that countless times. But my
pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears. She wouldn't even look me in the
face. She simply shook her head and told me vehemently, "No! no! NO!
You're a liar! How can I trust you? You've betrayed me and I will never
forget that!"

Her refusal to accept my apology and get over the matter began to piss
me off. After all, nothing had really happened! Her total rigidity and lack
of understanding angered me and I shouted back at her, "for God's sake
Sabrina! What the hell did I do wrong? Yes, I admit I acted foolishly, but
was it really so bad? Was my behaviour so wrong that I deserve this?"

That, perhaps, was not the right thing to say! In my mind I hadn't really
done anything wrong. After all, I hadn't promised her fidelity. We weren't
engaged! Honestly, I thought she was overdoing it. However, truly, I
didn't want to lose her and in retrospect I should've accepted some guilt
and told her the truth. That I'd been temporarily bewitched by Else's
beauty, but that I sincerely loved her. Anyway, that's not how it went and
she continued to freeze me out.

I left the next morning for Barcelona, to see Mr Connolly, with my bag of
clothes and toiletries, just in case I was required to stay there any length
of time.

By this time I was getting paid from Coopervilla through La Caixa, with
whom I had opened an account. I also had a banking book to withdraw
money from any branch of La Caixa anywhere in Catalua. In those days
there were no cards or cash machines. In Barcelona I found Connolly's
house and discovered him to be a middle-aged alcoholic with angry
manners. He had my orders from London. Of course, I was afraid that Mr
Connolly would give me my marching orders from Coopervilla for
'fraternising' with staff, or some such!

Fortunately I didn't get the sack. I suppose Sabrina had kept the affair to
herself. I was to work mostly at Casteldefells and Lloret, and had to report
to Connolly every week. His house was a well appointed villa, with a
garden and a swimming pool, overlooking the exclusive Pedralbes district.

We were on the terrace when his wife came out through the French-
windows to introduce herself. "Hello Michael. I'm Ingrid." Bloody hell!
Another pretty, blonde Scandinavian, showing plenty of flesh in her bikini
and high-hells, swinging her hips as she passed between myself and her
husband en-route to the garden and swimming pool. She looked to be
around thirty, much younger than her husband. I couldn't help following
her flexible looking body and pert bottom with my eyes. She half turned
and smiled at me teasingly, ignoring her husband's scolding look. There
was something funny going on there. Had she cheated on him in the
past? I wouldn't be surprised. However, still chastened by the recent
experience of Else vs. Sabrina, I refused to play the game and excused
myself from their drinks invitation on the pretext of having some
appointment with a Coopervilla apartment owner, which was actually true
but not until two hours later.
Two or three weeks later, having heard nothing from Sabrina, and feeling
fed up with Carmen's devious comments whenever I asked her about
Sabrina, I left for the Costa Brava. Should I have trusted Carmen to pass
on to Sabrina that I was sad and missed her a lot? Maybe I should've said
so, instead of waiting in the hopes of hearing from her. Once in the Costa
Brava I learned from an embarrassed Carmen that Sabrina had left for
England some two days previously and that she didn't know the reason.
She speculated that perhaps Sabrina was unwell or perhaps had some
family drama to attend to.

I could read on Carmen's face that she knew more than she was telling
me. I called the London office, but Sabrina wasn't there. I also tried to
speak with James Barker, but he was on a trip to Scandinavia and the girl
who answered the phone in London, apparently new to the company,
didn't seem to know anything about a person named Sabrina Spencer or
myself.

Dejectedly I returned to Castelldefells and carried on with the job. In the

beginning, I missed her a lot, but as time passed I thought of her less
frequently, eventually all but forgetting what we'd had together. I still
thought of her from time to time, but I was extremely busy and there were
plenty of willing girls to help me move on!

The season ended at the end of September and, closing up all accounts
with the maids and other services, I got the OK from James and returned
by train to London to work at Coopervilla, getting to London in early
October 1962. A few days later, when everything had settled down, I
went into James's private office to enquire about Sabrina. It was then that
he told me, quite drily, as if I was to blame, that she had resigned her job
with them in the first week of June, and that they had also been quite
surprised by her behaviour. I don't know what I would've said if he'd
asked me if there'd been anything between Sabrina and I. And thank God
he didn't for I wouldn't have been able to hide my feelings; my
disappointment about how things had ended. Perhaps, if he'd known, he
would've blamed me and given me the sack. As it turned out I needn't
have worried because, I found out much later, he already knew."

And that was the last I heard of Sabrina Spencer, until now, fifty-two years
later, with your extraordinary appearance. Ha-ha-ha! As Dr Wilburn and
now Mr Spencer! Now that you know me a little better and I've told you
the truth about my relationship with your mother, perhaps you'll be
honest with me in return? I suppose the reason you've chosen me to
participate in your incredible geriatric project is our familial relationship.
But, what would you've done with me if the DNA hadn't proved us to be
father and son? Would you have bought me a ticket back to Seville? It
seems to me now that perhaps Sabrina was not so mad at me for being a
flirty young twenty-two year old. A 'Casanova' as she called me several
times during our row. But, more because she'd got pregnant, whether she
wanted it or not, and got mixed up with the view that I wasn't trustworthy
and would therefore make an unreliable father."

"OK Miguel, I'll level with you. I think you're right. She would never have
aborted due to her religious beliefs, and you probably didn't seem to be
the type of man that she would've married, or perhaps she also thought
that you wouldn't have married her either. That's probably why she ran
off from Palamos and didn't want to involve you. I suppose she saw it as
her problem and considered you too irresponsible to deal with it."

I took a moment to digest that, before answering. "Well, she was wrong,
but anyway, it seems incredible that after so many years she had some
sort of a dream vision and remembers, before it's too late, and wants to
make up with me. I wonder why? It's pretty strange, though I guess it
makes sense given the result of our liaison. You! Her son. Our son! Good
God, a son, NOW?! At my age?! This is crazy!"

"It certainly seems so. Both of us are unwilling parties mixed up in a

problem long past. But what could I've done? Ignore her last wishes? Her
personal plea, which was also included in her Will? I'm grateful for your
account of the events. At least now I know that I was conceived with my
parents in love. Somehow that makes me feel better. Not to be the
unwanted one. Well, perhaps you don't understand . . . No, no, you
couldn't...."

Simon, my son, seemed lost in thought for a moment, before shaking his
head and returning to the moment. "Now, Jerry will drive me to my
apartment here in London in a while, as I have to deal with some urgent
documents there. I'm calling someone else to take you up North to the
clinic which is in Somerford."

"OK. That sounds fine. Just one thing though, before you go. You haven't
answered my question. What would've happened if the DNA test had
proved negative? Would you have sent me back to Seville?"

"To be honest, yes. That was plan B. But I was almost certain you were
the one. In any case, if I'd had to put you on the plane back to Seville,
you would've had a nice Mercedes waiting there, by way of compensation.
Wouldn't that've made up for any disruption this little adventure might
have caused?"

"Well, yes! But, excuse me Simon. One more thing. It seems you know
an awful lot about me, while I know almost nothing about you. I have to
insist that, supposing I go ahead with your offer, I want to be sure that I'm
free to change my mind at any moment and make my own arrangements
to return home. OK?"

"Yes, very well. You have my assurance. Now, let me introduce you to
Harry. He's the Chief Executive at our London office, and my trusted right
hand man. I think you'll be seeing a lot of him from now on. "

We shook hands. Harry was a tall fellow with longish blond, nearly white,
hair and a handsome but stern looking face, gazing down at me curiously.
How much did he know? Would there be any secrets from him? I decided
to test the matter out, saying, "now Simon, as I told you, I didn't have
much time last night to think things over, but I've decided to go ahead
with it. But tell me..." I did not continue for he put his finger to his lips to
signal me to stop. So, it seemed Harry was not in full confidence after all.
I couldn't put my finger on the reason, but I was glad.

Simon asked Harry to go and get him some food from the buffet and told
him to take something for himself too while he was there, as he wanted a
moment to talk to me alone.

As Harry walked away, Simon said, "now, Miguel, please understand.

There are things that we need to keep strictly between us. OK? So. You
were saying?"

I told him that I understood the need for confidentiality and continued,
"supposing I had turned down your offer to go to the clinic to improve my
health and physique, how would you've reacted? How would you've taken
it?"

" Well... I would've been really sorry, and again I would've tried to
convince you that the right thing to do was accept my offer. I completely
understand your reservations, but do you think I would do something that
was bad for you, me being your son? If only for the sake of the promise I
made to my mother. I would also have told you that there was
considerable financial benefit to be obtained from the Foundation. No
cash right now, but very soon, that could help your family. And that in the
future, if and when you're up to it, you could take up a job that I have in
mind for you. Ah, I see Harry is coming back. Let's continue this
conversation a little later on, shall we?"

My curiosity peaked even further, I excused myself, went to the toilet, and
then to the hall that I'd passed by the night before when I'd been too
drowsy to take much in. I took a newspaper and sat down to wait for
them to finish their breakfast. Something was bothering me. Had I
mentioned my family being in urgent need of money? Maybe I had when I
was half asleep during the flight from Seville? But again, he'd mentioned
that I could make some money in the future! How? He was rich, but how
rich?
When I came back, they'd finished their breakfast, and Simon told me,
"Look Miguel, it seems like I'll have to go back to London for a bit.
Something urgent has come up that needs my personal attention. Harry
will take you up to Somerford. There, he'll introduce you to Dr Hilmarton,
the clinic director and the one who'll be responsible for your welfare and
rejuvenation. Do you have any more questions?"

Harry went off to get the car and I took the opportunity to broach my
money concerns with Simon, saying, "One thing. Something so trivial as
to do with money. I only brought 500 with me. I suppose that in that
town, Somersford?, I can withdraw money from a bank, though I'm not
sure if I'll be charged. And perhaps after a while at the clinic I might like
to get out and buy something. Could I use my VISA card to do this?"

"Yes, of course. You can use VISA cards all over, but let me lend you some
pocket money for now. Say, here you are...you think one thousand will be
enough for the time being until we can arrange some other way for your
upkeep?"

"As pocket money goes, yes, it's more than enough, but I was actually
thinking of a larger mount. Since you seem to know, due to the economic
crisis in Spain, my family could really use some money to settle some
urgent debts. The figure I have in mind is more like... could you, for
instance, let me have on account, say, 300,000?"

"Hang on a minute Miguel! Isn't that a bit steep?! I'm surprised at you.
Do you really think you're entitled to ask for that sort of money, even
taking in consideration our special relationship?! Well... let me think it
over for a while." At that moment Harry came around the corner and
Simon signalled for him to wait a minute for us to finish our conversation.

"Hmmmm... well.... I suppose it could be arranged. But...then...well,

maybe...let me think... yes, it can be done subject to approval by the
accounts department. You would have to register at the clinic as part of
the SSIA , in order to be covered by the Spencer Foundation account." I
thought I saw a slight, sly smile on his face, but if it had been there, it was
gone in a second. "After all", he continued, "you already belong to it. Yes,
that's how we'll do it!"

"Right Simon, I'll have to get used to calling you by that name."

He interrupted me, "No, no Miguel. Actually that won't do at all. I was just
coming to that. If and when you enter the programme we won't see much
of each other, though I will be following your progress. Anyway, for all
intents and purposes I shall have to be Dr or Mr Spencer to you. The head
doctor at the clinic is a top geriatrist and is also the General Manager. It is
his responsibility, along with the Accounts Manager, to run the place and
ensure the business is profitable. The Foundation will cover your costs
and will also supply the funds you've requested. If any questions should
be asked, you're not to reveal anything of our true relationship. Just say
you're a friend of the family and leave it at that. And if anyone asks you
how you can afford the treatment, you can tell them it's due to a grant
awarded to you by the Foundation."

"Well, fair enough, if that's how you want it. I hope I don't have to explain
anything in any great detail! Now, would you be able to give me some
idea of how long it'll take to get the cash to my family?"

"Do you mean to say you're accepting my offer? You're ready to go on

from here to the clinic and begin the process? I know you're afraid of
something going wrong."

"Well, yes and no. What I mean to say is, I need to have sufficient
economic security for anything that may happen during the treatment.
And as far as being afraid goes, that's not the case. I don't fear death,
specially a painless death under anaesthetic. I'm not a young man and
I've lived my life! The main problem I can foresee is the disruptive effect it
could have on my family. Take you for instance. You're fifty-two years old,
but you look to be around forty. How did your family handle the dramatic
change?"
"Well, that's a good question. And yes, that was the real snag for me too.
Due to my considerable physical change, and some other issues with our
marriage, my wife divorced me. It happened about three years ago. I
have to see her quite often due to our children and the commitments that
bring us together. Well, not children anymore. We have a boy, Andrew,
now thirty, and a girl, Elisabeth, twenty-six. Neither of them live with their
mum anymore as they're both working.

Andrew is married, with two young ones, a boy and a girl and Eli is
engaged. And, as I said, regarding your concerns, it will no doubt be an
issue. Your sudden change in appearance will weigh very heavily on her.
If she loves you, perhaps she will understand to some extent, but it will be
very difficult for you to continue your life together as before.

You could tell her that despite your youthful appearance, your life
expectancy has not changed, which, by the way, could well be the truth.
However, it's unlikely she would accept the situation and I imagine that
sooner or later you'll have to separate. The most likely outcome,
regarding your life expectancy, is that you'll live an extra twenty years!
Even if you don't tell her this, she'll probably find it impossible to reconcile
herself to your physical changes. Put yourself in her place for a moment
and imagine how you would feel. You'll be rejuvenated, but she'll be
unchanged. An old woman."

"So, what you're saying is that I could make it to a hundred?"

"Exactly. As a matter of fact, we're following cases of people who went

through similar procedures some years ago, and if they continue in their
current good health, they're looking well set to live past a hundred. A win-
win situation! The doctors are happy and the former patients too!
Geriatric science is advancing quickly. New techniques and new medicines
are being researched and in a few years time people, with sufficient
economic means, will live to be a hundred and ten or more. That's my
hope too. To live long enough to see the implementation of these new
techniques and have a new concept of life expectancy, with a younger
rejuvenated body. Your case could very be similar to mine. My current
prospects are to live until I reach a hundred and twenty. Current research
is focused on non-aging cells and aging is coming to be seen more as an
illness than an inevitability. Indeed, an illness that can be avoided, with
the right treatment. All of this is currently underway and just imagine how
things will advance in the future. We are just the pioneers!

With regards to the money, I think that we could get it to you before
Christmas. That is, if you start the program right away. I would estimate
that we'll have you on the right path within two months.

Dr Hilmarton will report to me, and I'll keep in touch with you through
Harry. You will eventually understand why everything has to be so hush,
hush. Anyway, Harry is waiting. What do you say? Shall we put your
suitcase in the car?"

At that moment, I didn't really know what to say. He seemed so eager to

convince me that for a moment it made me doubt my decision to
continue. But, only for a moment! I decided to throw caution to the wind
and go ahead with it. After all, you only live once and I was quite seduced
by the prospect of being free of my various aches and pains. A second
chance! It saddened me to think that it could mean the end of my
marriage, but perhaps not. Just because it had happened that way for
Simon didn't necessarily mean that it would be the same for me. In my
current state of health, Isabel would only have me for a few more years
anyway.

I answered him enthusiastically, "Hell! Why not?! I want to believe what

you say, that both our futures could be so improved! I can see more
advantages than disadvantages! You have convinced me!"

"Perfect!" he replied. "Well, then you'd better get going. This is goodbye
for now I'm afraid". He motioned for Harry to come over and load the car,
reminding me again with a whisper of the need for secrecy regarding the
true nature of our relationship.
We shook hands and I got into the beautiful Audi 8, with Harry driving. We
set off at a good speed through the beautiful English countryside. We
passed fields, quaint farmhouses and rolling hills and I marvelled at the
different shades of green and the spectacular autumnal reds and browns
of the trees.

At around 14:00 on September 27th, we arrived at the clinic in the town of

Somerford, fifty-eight miles Northwest of London. It had a large cast-iron
grilled gate, surrounded by a tall redbrick wall, stretching far on both
sides. Harry opened it by remote control and as we drove through the
gate, he pressed the button again and the gate closed behind us. We
continued some two-hundred metres up the driveway to the front door of
a splendid white painted building, bearing no name, with two grey, marble
pillars flanking the imposing dark green door. We climbed the large stone
steps up to the front door and went inside. The entrance hall was large
and beautifully decorated in red and gold, more like a first class hotel than
a clinic. I followed Harry towards a desk, over ten meters away, with a
sign that said 'BIOCLYDE RECEPTION.'

Later, when I called Isabel, I had to remember not to tell her the name of
the town or of the clinic. I did say that it was a geriatric clinic and that I
would stay there for a couple of weeks, after which I would leave in better
shape than I went in. In fact, it turned out to be more than two months
before I would be able to leave. Rehabilitation, then hospitalisation and
more rehabilitation! This all continued until just before Christmas. I
suppose that in my nervous state I had misunderstood Simon when we
had talked about the duration of the treatment.

Harry took my suitcase up to the front desk and greeted the receptionist,
an elegant looking lady with immaculately done grey hair named Mrs
Adams. Henry knew her by name and she stood up to greet us. "Here's
your new guest, Mr Miguel Velasco. You'd better take good care of him!
He's one of Mr Spencer's VIP clients."
"Welcome to Bioclyde Mr Velasco. Could you let me have your passport,
please and ...thank you Harry, leave him with me, I'll take down Mr
Velasco's personal details and give him some information about the
Bioclyde Centre. But, before you go, while I'm taking down his particulars,
why don't you go and show him the coffee shop. He looks as if he could
use a nice cup of tea and maybe something to nibble. She turned to me,
saying, "you must be starving Mr Velasco! And I believe your appointment
with Dr Hilmarton isn't until 16:00."

I thanked her and Harry steered me off down the corridor. "Look, this is
the visitors coffee lounge. Do you fancy something with your tea or
coffee? I myself will only have a quick coffee. I'm sorry I can't stay a bit
longer. I'd like to, but Mr Spencer told me to hurry up and get back as
soon as possible."

Harry drank his coffee and took his leave, assuring me that Mrs Adams
would see to everything. I sat there, a little groggy, and enjoyed a cup of
tea and a piece of apple cake. A little while later a nurse came and
showed me up to my room. It was a very nice room with a wide,
comfortable looking bed, a table and two chairs, a deep, comfortable
armchair, a built-in wardrobe and a TV set attached to the wall. The en-
suite was quite large, with a glass-screened shower stand. The room was
carpeted wall to wall and had a nice big window overlooking the garden.
All 'top class' I thought as I lay down on the bed. I found it to be
extremely comfortable, with its light cream-coloured duvet.

I was lying there comfortably when I realised I only had fifteen minutes
until I had to go down to see this director, Dr Hilmarton, for my first check
up. Would I be found suitable for the project? I dragged myself off the
bed and went down to ask Mrs Adams where to find Dr Hilmarton's office.
She called a nurse to show me the way and I got to the door just before
16:00. The doctor opened the door, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Mr Velasco?" he asked, and I confirmed.

"Yes, that's me"

"Come inside please. I'm Dr Hilmarton, the head doctor here at Bioclyde.
Please, take a seat. OK... I have your information here. Mr Miguel
Velasco. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's right".

"Well then. This is all in Spanish and I'm afraid I haven't had time to get it
translated. Would you be kind enough to give me a brief account of your
medical history please?

I filled him in with the details of my various medical reports and he

recorded everything with a small gadget on his desk. He asked me a lot
of questions regarding hospitals, dates, medicines, how I felt and so forth.

It took him about forty-five minutes, including all the usual doctors
preliminaries. He'd received some information from Dr Spencer, he said,
but wanted to hear from me directly.

"As per Dr Spencer's instructions, you are to join plan B, which means
we're aiming to reach the second level of geriatric improvement. You will
maintain control at all times of how far to go and what to do or not to do.
I have a photograph here of you when you were around fifty. This will be
handed over to the plastic surgeon in due time. Are you happy with that?

Despite still having doubts about whether or not I was doing the right
thing, I agreed and was informed that the we would begin the various
tests and check-ups necessary to determine my suitability for the project
the following morning at 8:00. He told me to eat nothing after midnight
and handed me a small plastic bottle in which to provide a urine sample,
reiterating that the project would only go ahead if I passed the required
tests and it seemed to me that he doubted, no doubt due to my
appearance, that that would be the case.

He was not an agreeable person. Too serious, with his eyes too close
together. He completely ignored my attempts at pleasantries and made it
quite clear that I was on 'probation' as a favour to Dr Spencer, and that it
would probably only be a matter of time until I was rejected. I supposed
his attitude resulted from my being a patient from the Foundation, as such
patients were no doubt much less profitable to the Bioclyde clinic than the
private ones.

I slept well that night. I had pretty much resigned myself to the prospect
of being sent back home again after the tests if I failed to meet the
requirements, and really had no major expectations. I arrived promptly at
Dr Hilmarton's office as 8:00 on the dot and went through the exhaustive
examinations.

Amazingly, despite Dr Hilmarton's misgivings, I passed! Preparation for

the programme included nutritional control, a low-calorie diet, general
rehab, massage, swimming, controlled aerobics in the gym and walking in
the grounds, with the duration and difficulty of the activities gradually
increasing.

On the 12th October, after two weeks of intensive training, I had thinned
down to eighty kilos, and was considerably stronger than when I'd arrived
at the Bioclyde Clinic. I was quite happy with the results and didn't have
much more in mind, but Dr Hilmarton must've talked with Simon who
apparently gave the green light to proceed with deeper therapy. He asked
me if I was ready. Ready for what, I could only guess, but as I felt quite
well, I answered affirmatively.

I was taken to the hospital wing to undergo some minor, or so I thought,

operations. The cosmetic surgery included things like fixing my double
chin, under-eye bags, belly retracing, reinforcing the loose diaphragm
muscle and a few other things besides. I was assured that should there
be complications and the worst should happen, my wife and daughters
would receive the sum of 1 million.

I had assumed that everything would be done under a local anaesthetic,

but as it turned out, I was put under general. I might perhaps have
objected, had I known beforehand, but I was in their hands and more than
a little in awe of how my body was already responding to the treatment. I
think that at that point, despite their prior reassurances, had I decided to
put a stop to things and pack up and go, I wouldn't have been allowed.
After all, I'd signed the forms giving them permission to take charge of the
process, doing whatever they deemed necessary.

When I woke up, it was 20th October and I was in a different hospital
room. I had completed the most difficult stage of the programme. I was
still connected to some machines and though I couldn't see as my eyes
were covered with bandages, I could hear a buzzing behind me. I was
drowsy but not in any pain at all. Something wonderful had happened!
My hearing was acute. I could hear soft voices and hospital trolleys. And
then... silence. Total, complete silence. My tinnitus had disappeared! I
had no idea whether this would be permanent, but it was fantastic. For
the first time in many, many years, I could hear the sound of silence!

After a while, the nurse came in and took off my oxygen mask and asked
me how I was feeling.

"Well, not so bad. How long have I been sleeping?"

The reply astonished me! "Eight days Michael. No, no, don't touch your
face yet, please."

I lowered my hands and stammered, "but, but, what... what have they
done to me?"

"Well, you were put into a temporary coma in order to give your body time
to recover. I cannot give you all the details at the moment. I'll let the
doctor know that you're awake and he'll come and fill you in on the details
and answer any questions you may have."

Ten minutes later a doctor I hadn't met before came in and introduced
himself. "I'm Dr. Fowler, the surgeon who operated on you, under the
direction of Dr Hilmarton. I'm very happy to say that everything went
according to plan."

He told me I'd had several blood transfusions, but didn't give me much
more information besides that. I was to enjoy a general physical upgrade!
He couldn't explain the techniques used for this, but at that moment I
didn't much care. Later I was told that the various medications I had
brought with me from Spain would no longer be necessary! However,
they had been substituted for others; one white pill to be taken with
breakfast, and a blue pill to be taken with dinner at around 19:00.

They let me keep a supply of the little bags of herbal tea that helped me
sleep, similar to the one I'd taken at Heathrow, just in case I needed them.
They had various types and they advised me to use the weakest one so as
not to develop any type of dependence, but enough to help me drop off to
sleep if I was finding it difficult.

Dr Fowler continued, "Let me check your vitals and then we'll see how we
need to move forward from now on." He looked over the charts for a few
moments before saying, "you seem to be quite all right. I should think
that in a couple of days you'll be able to return to your own room, though
the last word has to be given by Dr Hilmarton. You'll need to go through
some progressive rehab, as your muscles are weaker now due to inactivity
and then you'll continue, as before the treatment, with slow rehabilitation.
Now then, let me tell you exactly what we did while you were out!

We have cleaned all the main arteries, especially the coronary artery, of
any fat, and reshaped them. We've removed the nine stems you carried
as they are no longer necessary. We have also operated on your back.
Your hips were worn out with rheumatism and we've implanted new dorsal
and lumbar vertebra. Also the cervical vertebra was quite damaged and
we have fixed that. In general you will find yourself to be a couple of
inches taller. Furthermore, whilst you were in the induced coma, we gave
you blood transfusions using regenerative stem cells to repair the skeletal
connective tissues and the dermis. A specialist carried out the minor
cosmetic alterations to your face; your eye bags, double chin etc... have
been fixed. Excess belly fat and loose skin have also been removed.

We think you'll be very happy with the results, and we're satisfied that the
facial surgery has been done in accordance with the photo you gave to Dr
Hilmarton from when you were fifty-three years old. I wish you a happy
and comfortable recovery and, again, my congratulations!"

I spend the next few days resting and looking forward to seeing my new
appearance! On the morning of October 22nd I was back in my room.
The room that had almost become my home! I'd overcome the most
difficult part of the level 2 stage, so I was told, and at noon I was able to
go down to the dining room to have lunch. The food was specially
prepared by the clinic nutritionist to suit my needs.

The first time I looked in the mirror I could hardly believe the image that
looked back at me. It wasn't me! I mean, it was me, but not the me of
two weeks ago. It was as if somebody had rolled back the clock thirty
years! There were no visible scars! It was amazing what they'd achieved
with laser surgery! My head, like my face, had been completely shaved,
but I could already feel a thick stubble and I could see that it would grow
back thick and dark. My waist and stomach were flat and fat-free, though
still sensitive to the touch in places. I don't know why I was so surprised.
After all, Dr Hilmarton had told me that I would look much younger. But it
was still a shock! I think that nothing could have prepared me for such a
transformation!

I was also visited by a lady doctor, Vivian Radler, who, after studying my
chart, congratulated me on my swift recovery and told me I was ready to
start using the gym again when I felt a little stronger, under supervision,
and that I ought to resume walking in the grounds. She advised me to
check in with the monitor in order to get proper coaching and for them to
chart my ongoing development.

I kept looking at myself. I couldn't help it. I was like a narcissist. The
face, though pale and tired, reminded me of the one I'd had when I went
to the Camino de Santiago, nearly twenty-five years before. It was like a
dream come true. After all the treatment to which I had submitted, and
the diet to which I was adhering, I was now just seventy-six kilos. Though
I would probably gain weight after leaving the rigorous controls of the
clinic, I was advised that I should try to maintain a low-calorie diet.

I was happy to call Harry to inform him of my transformation and

improved health, knowing that he would update Simon, though he was no
doubt already well informed by Dr Hilmarton. Also, I wanted them to give
me back my watch and mobile phone to contact my wife. He said he was
glad I was doing well, but told me that he would contact my wife on my
behalf and tell her the good news. I thought that was rather strange and
was not a little pissed off that they wouldn't give me back my phone. I
asked to speak to Dr Hilmarton about it, but Mrs Adams told me he was
overseas at a medical convention, somewhere in the US. What could I do?
Even if I'd been well enough to travel, my luggage, with all my clothes and
shoes, my documents and money, was not in the cupboard. Instead they
had supplied me with two tracksuits, canvas shoes, some pullovers and
underwear. The nurse did give me back my watch but could not enlighten
me as to the whereabouts of the rest of my things. On top of this, Harry
wouldn't take my calls. I had to accept that I was being kept isolated,
presumably for my own good. So far everything had worked in my favour,
so I would just have to continue to trust them.

Three more weeks passed by. My stamina had improved dramatically and
my usual routine now consisted of two hours jogging in the back gardens
with a small device monitoring my heart rate, followed by a massage, and
then some time in the swimming pool where I would do a few laps of
breaststroke. I kept up this routine every day except Sundays and public
holidays and even then I continued jogging so as not to lose any of my
improved fitness, though on these occasions I didn't have the use of the
heart rate monitor.

Despite my joy at feeling my increased strength, I couldn't help getting a

little bored with the routine. They did let me have a tablet with a
keyboard and printer, which I could use to record my experiences at
Bioclyde and watch YouTube, which was not available on the public TV.
The only people I could speak to were Mrs Adams, the nurses,
physiotherapists and monitors. But none of them, with the exception of
Mrs Adams, were very talkative, so I had only the TV, and the tablet to
occupy my free time. I had also taken to daydreaming about a young
lady I had passed several times in the hall and along the corridors as I was
going about my rehab. The first time I noticed her, we just nodded at
each other. The second time, a nice smile greeted me back. I think we
were both about to stop but we didn't. Now, with my new face and body I
was almost sure she would agree to a coffee and a chat, but I was still a
little insecure and didn't dare ask. She was blonde and a little taller than
me, about thirty years old with a splendid lean body. However, as I had no
way to reach her for the time being I kept to myself. I avoided talking to
the other patients in the dining room, as per Simon's recommendation.
There was too much potential for awkward questions which I wouldn't be
able to answer.

I returned to my room one day after lunch to find that my suitcase and
other things had been returned to my room. All my things that is, except
my mobile phone. That, it seemed, had mysteriously vanished!

One day soon after the return of my things, I was walking down the
corridor when I saw her again. I prepared my best smile and just as we
were about to pass each other, she stopped. She gave me the loveliest
smile and said, "hello". I quickly turned back, surprised and delighted,
and replied "hello". What she said next surprised me even more, for she
knew my name! "Good afternoon Michael."

"Good afternoon to you too. How do you know my name?"

"Well, no mystery about that. I'm a doctor here and I'm supposed to know
the names of all of our guests."

"You're a doctor? Well, I was wondering, but as you're not wearing a

doctor's coat... I thought... well I didn't think at all really. What's your
specialty?"
"I'm part of the geriatric project and study the bodily responses of those
patients who have finished the second stage."

"In the project? Ah! All right then. So I suppose I shall have to visit your
office at some point? Today or tomorrow perhaps?"

"Sorry to say but it cannot be done today. I'll let you know when. OK?"

I nodded and we continued our separate paths down the corridor. I

couldn't help turning to watch her walk away, enjoying the sway of her
hips in her tight jeans.

Later that day, Simon came to visit me.

"Hello Miguel. Could we perhaps call you Michael from now on?"

"Sure, why not? Everybody here does already, so why not you? Are you
Simon today, or Dr Spencer?"

"As long as we're here, I'm Dr Spencer. I must say, you look splendid! Fit
and lean, as I expected. You are the project coming true!"

I laughed and said, "no wonder! They're keeping me on the go from early
morning till late afternoon with constant exercise and rehab."

He asked me if I was having much to do with the other patients, who he

referred to as 'guests'.

"No, not really. I thought it best not to mix with them too much given that
I can't reveal much about myself. But it doesn't really bother me. The
only thing is that I always feel hungry. Whenever I ask for more food in
the dining room, the waitress consults some papers and then denies my
request. I suppose I'm being given enough for my needs according to the
programme's doctors and nutritionists. Still, I would like a little more!

And there's one other thing, though maybe I shouldn't talk about it with
you, but, the thing is... my body feels different now in so many ways. It's
stronger now, in more ways than one. What I mean is.... my sexual
appetite has increased! Do you understand? Perhaps you could arrange
for me to meet with a young woman?"

He didn't seem at all surprised by this and said, "Yes, of course I

understand, and will see to it. I'll ask Harry to take care of it for you for
whenever you wish to have company. However, as you can't yet leave the
clinic, it'll have to be done here."

"That's no problem for me, but... before we make any arrangements, the
thing is... I was wondering... You see, there is a young lady here that is my
dream woman. We pass each other in the corridors often and the last
time she smiled at me quite invitingly. I'm thinking of asking her to have
coffee with me. She seems friendly enough and who knows, but.... I'm not
sure... " I trailed off, unsure if I was being too ambitious!

"Well, there are quite a lot of lovely nurses here, but I suppose you're
talking about Helen. She's a doctor here. I could probably arrange
something with her come to think of it. Well.. I'll see what I can do. Now,
let me take you out. We can take a walk around the town, talk a little and
have a nice meal. It'll do you good to get out of here for a while. Give me
ten minutes to get the car. I'd prefer if we weren't seen leaving together."

"That sounds fine. Actually, I'd love to get out for a bit. I'm a little tired of
being locked in this gilded cage. I admit that it's elegant and comfortable,
but to see the streets, the shop windows, the cars, the young ladies
passing by... It would be like a little holiday for me now."

In less than ten minutes, I had put on some warm clothes and was ready.
My trousers kept coming down, so I belted them tight. There was nobody
around and, for the first time in about two months, I just walked out of the
front door and down onto the driveway. Simon was waiting for me in his
shining Lexus. I hopped in the passenger side and we drove into
Somerford. We were lucky and managed to find a parking space in the
main square, near the Town Hall. It was cold and dark and perhaps
because of that, there weren't many people around and none of them the
attractive girls that I'd been hoping to see. Simon led the way down a
side street to find a restaurant he knew, and before long I was sitting
down to have my first meal out since September 22nd at Heathrow
Airport.

Ever since Simon had suggested we go out, I'd been dreaming of the large
slap-up meal I would order! However, he soon shattered my illusions,
saying, "You know, Michael, you shouldn't altogether break your diet. I
suggest you choose something low-calorie here too. I'll join you for I've
put on a little weight recently. Not enough exercise and too many hours
sitting at a desk. Really I must go on a diet too. My beer belly, you see.

Now, let me tell you more about the lovely young lady you were talking
about. Her name is Helen Tathill and she's a behavioural analysis doctor
for the patients who are completing either phase 1 or phase 2, as you are
now."

"Yeah, I was aware that I was coming to the end of phase 2. Is she some
sort of philologist or therapist?"

"Yes, something like that. You'll soon see for yourself!"

I didn't tell him that I'd already made her acquaintance, when she had
introduced herself in the hallway, and that I found her tremendously
attractive.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough and the food, though
healthier than I had hoped for, was tasty. After we'd finished eating,
around 21:30, we took a little walk along the empty streets.

Simon gave Helen a call to ask if she'd like to join us for a drink in about
fifteen minutes, telling her that he wished to introduce her to someone.
We headed back to the clinic to pick her up and when we got there she
was already waiting in the hall. She looked astonishingly beautiful! Very
tall and elegant with a dark mauve jacket and white trousers. She was
wearing mid-high heels, which made her as tall as Simon, and about three
inches taller than me. We went to a private lounge with a 'staff only' sign
on the door and Simon ordered the drinks. Gin and tonic for he and Helen,
but only tonic water for me. Although I felt quite well and was enjoying
their company, I thought at times I could detect something in the way
they looked at each other. As if they were hiding something? At 22:30
Simon reminded me, with a sly smile, that I had to get up early, and
wasn't it time for me to get to bed? He obviously wanted me gone so he
could be alone with Helen. I didn't like to be pushed off, but thought it
better not to antagonize him so I took the 'hint', excused myself and went
up to my room.

The following Monday, at about 18:00, after returning from my last routine
lap, still sweaty with my tracksuit on, there was a knock at my door, and
though it wasn't locked, I got up and went to see who it was. It was her!
Wearing a doctor's coat, with a stethoscope dangling from her neck.
Strangely, she didn't greet me as cheerily as she usually did when we
passed each other in the halls, but with a rather severe, "Good morning,
Michael."

I was a little put off by her unusual attitude, but put it down to her being
in her official capacity as doctor. She asked me how I was, to which I
replied that I was fine. Then she asked me to take off my shirt and did the
usual tricks with the stethoscope. Breath in and breath out. My lungs
were clean.

"Everything seems to be in order Michael. Would you please lie down on

the bed? I did as instructed and she started kneading my chest and sides,
lowering her fingers towards my pelvis, kneading there as well. Softy but
strongly she pulled down my trousers and underwear, shutting down my
weak protest, and with one hand started handling my testicles and penis.
I couldn't help it and I responded as you'd expect! Or rather, as you'd
expect a younger man to do! I had my first erection in years!

I was astonished and trembling, while she was all doctor-like, calm and
professional.

I could only ask, "What, what are you... why, why?!!! "
And a little later... "please Michael put on your clothes and sit down. I
have to talk with you. As a matter of fact I'm a geriatric sexologist. My
name is Helen Tathill, and I'm the granddaughter of a man you used to
know quite well. Dr Tathill, who for a while was engaged with a firm called
Coopervilla. From his papers I learnt that you helped him out with some
problems caused by his stepson John Cooper and partner James Barker.
The latter knows you well, and I suppose it's down to him, indirectly at
least, that you're here with the geriatric project. Is that right?"

I nodded, still open mouthed, asking myself how she could know all that...
I'd been standing up, leaning against my bed, as she told me that and
now, astonished, I dropped into the armchair opposite.

She continued, "I saw you when you arrived here in September with Harry.
And I see now quite a different man." In a matter of minutes she had
changed from the stern doctor to the woman I'd met before. A very
attractive young woman.

"Well, I couldn't have seen you then. You or anybody else, for I was quite
drowsy with exhaustion and a whole range of other emotions."

"We, Michael, in just a couple of months we, that's to say the clinic, has
succeeded in improving your health, and the general appearance of your
body. The erection you had just now proves it without any doubt. You've
recovered your strength. As a specialist I'm confident of that, I assure
you."

"Hell, you took me by surprise! I sure wasn't expecting that!"

"I didn't want to embarrass you but I had to do it to comply with the rehab
protocols."

"Well done, my dear lady! I'm willing for another check-up any time!"

She laughed prettily and told me teasingly, "Wait and see."

"Helen, you of course know that when we pass each other in the corridors,
I twist my head back to see more of you. I love to watch you walk away!"
"Of course I do. Women always know when men are looking at us. Since
the first day I saw you I was wondering how our new Spanish guest would
turn out. And I must confess I've done some research on you. On your
past. And that's why I know what I said before, and regarding your current
state, I'm not disappointed."

Under her open, white doctor's coat, I could see that instead of her usual
tight trousers, she was wearing a skirt, two inches above her knees,
without any stockings. She sat down and crossed her legs, letting me see
a good stretch of her thighs from my lower position in the armchair. I
thought they were absolutely magnificent. We talked about her
grandfather, Dr Tathill, who'd been deceased for a year now, and how and
why we had become good friends, with him ultimately becoming my
benefactor.

"I'm sorry he's dead. We became friends before the crisis of the company,
and I actually assisted in some of his lectures. He favoured me in some
ways and I actually lived in one of his apartments in Regents Park Estate
for a while, rent-free. But, I'm surprised that he only died last year. I
suppose he must've been very, very old."

"Well, yes, but old is a relative term. Especially in this line of work. Before
he had the accident that eventually caused his death, he was still a strong
man, walking straight and tall. He fell from his bicycle and broke one of
his hips. Then, somehow, at the hospital he got an infection and despite
all attempts to cure him, he didn't get better. After that he deteriorated
rapidly. It may not surprise you to learn that he'd undergone some
rejuvenation therapy here at the clinic, but it was before some of the new
techniques, including the stem cell implants. The term 'old' is constantly
changing. True, he was over a hundred, but that is, if I'm not mistaken,
only twenty-four years older than you. When you knew him you were,
what, twenty four? And he was fifty-one? So you see, old age is relative."

While we were talking she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, so each
time I could see a little bit more of her superb thighs. I couldn't help
looking at them. From her hazel eyes to her legs. Up and down, up and
down. After a little I realized she must have been doing it on purpose, like
that famous scene from 'Basic Instinct' with Sharon Stone. She was
teasing me, and testing my reactions. As this dawned on me, I begged
her to stop.

Perhaps she was just a tease, or maybe she really liked me and this was a
promise of things to come! Whatever the reason, she ignored my pleas
for mercy! When she finally got up and went slowly towards the door, she
half turned, looking back at me. Was she going to open it and leave? No.
I was glued to the armchair, unable to move due to the sudden bulge in
my trousers! She continued looking at me, enticingly. An unspoken
challenge for me to stand up. I moved quickly, taking her in my arms,
holding her tightly against my chest. She turned to face me and despite
the height difference, I managed to kiss her mouth. She responded quite
openly and then, pushing me gently, she said, "You know Mike?... I like you
too!"

Helen

On 27th September 2014, Helen Tathill, a thirty-nine year old woman with
a long connection to and friendship with Simon Spencer, with whom she
had started her practice at Bioclyde, was among the people that
happened to be in the clinic's big entrance hall when Harry Stuart came in
holding a suitcase, followed by an old man with a tired walk. He had the
rather alarmed look of a deer caught in headlights, gazing all around him,
while at the same time appearing quite drowsy, no doubt due to lack of
sleep from the long journey. They approached the reception desk, where
Mrs Adams received them warmly.

She thought, here comes another one that probably won't make it. She
would examine his information when everything had quietened down and
she could ask her friend Mrs Adams for the documents. She found out his
name and nationality: Miguel Velasco Zumaya, Spanish, Born in 1937 in
San Sebastian. References: see Dr Simon Spencer!
My God, she thought, he's a VIP. Better take good care of him! She put
away that information for later and turned her attention to the patients
that needed her attention right away. After all, she was a specialist in the
physical reactions of patients after they came out of the rejuvenation
process.

Besides being a fully certified physician, her speciality was geriatric

sexology at the male Bioclyde Centre in Somerford. There was a geriatric
clinic for female clients in the same county, Gloucestershire, but it was
under different management.

About two months later, she passed, on one of her running visits, a
middle aged man that vaguely resembled the patient she'd seen being
checked in that last week of September. She glanced back at him and
saw that he too had turned back and was looking at her with an admiring
look. She continued on her way, but had already realised that this was
the same old man that had registered with Mrs Adams back in September.

A few days later she saw him coming her way along the wide corridor that
joined the building's east and west wings. Instinctively she smiled and
uttered a low, "hello". He looked surprised that she'd spoken to him, but
said hello back. Something about him interested her, though she couldn't
put her finger on exactly what it was. She found his rehab timetable and
ventured to meet him, 'accidentally', more often.

She investigated his background and personality, as she did with all the
patients coming out of the second stage of treatment. This one somehow
didn't seem to be the usual client. Nearly all the people having
treatments at this clinic were rich men that could afford the rather
staggering costs. She was fairly certain he was not one of them, but his
references showed that he had something to do with the Spencer
Foundation. His progress so far had been exceptional. Better that most,
according to the physios' and coaches' reports.

He was already doing aerobics in the back garden, and would soon start
with jogging, from five-hundred yards to a mile, and then progressing
further from there. In the meantime Simon had come to visit him, which
confirmed her theory, and took him out to have dinner in Somerford. A
treatment that was seldom given to any guest. This Miguel had now
reached the second level of rehab, and would soon be ready to be
checked by her. She would carry out a diagnosis of his sexual abilities and
test whether his rehabilitation in this area was comparable to his progress
in physical exercise.

She waited till he returned from his last exercises, around 19:00, and went
up to his room. Before that she changed, putting on light makeup and
dressing in a skirt that finished just above the knee, a tight pullover and
her doctor's open white coat, with the stethoscope dangling from her
neck.

She entered his room with the cold professional look of a doctor doing a
routine check-up and examined the chart hanging by his bed. "OK Mr
Velasco. Everything seems to be in order. Now, please remove your shirt
and unfasten the top of your trousers." She checked his breathing and
heart rate with the stethoscope. "Now, please lay down on the bed." She
started kneading the muscles of his chest and sides, coming down to his
stomach. He was already getting excited! She slid his trousers down to
mid thigh, and started caressing his groin. Then, despite his hysterical,
ahhh... ahhh!!! she took his testicles and penis in her hand, caressing him
with gentle strokes. He just exclaimed ahhh...ahhh!!! again and again.
Not wanting to see, clearly shy, his eyes were closed, but it was clear he
was feeling his first erection in many years. She continued a little longer,
this time stroking upwards. Then she pulled his trousers back up and
asked him to stand up and dress. He looked quite astonished, leaning on
his bed, avoiding eye contact and clearly unsure what to do next. He was
breathing hard, as though he'd just run a race.

She sat down on a chair and said, "Sit down Miguel. Or should I say
Michael. I have to explain. Listen. I'm a geriatric sexologist, and I've been
working here for over four years. This experiment is done within the body
function rehab programme, of which sexual encouragement is not a minor
part. We'll probably do it a few more times, but for the time being, let me
tell you that your arousal at this moment is quite normal for a person
within the age range of thirty to forty.

Another thing I wanted to talk about is that I'm the granddaughter of

Nicholas Tathill. He was a respected sexologist with an office in Baker
Street, London." With this revelation, Michael jumped up from the low
armchair where he'd been sitting and cried, "What?! Dr Tathill?! He was
my friend during my last stage with Coopervilla. I used to live in a big,
empty flat he had in Regent's Park. Your grandfather?"

"That he was, Michael. I understand that you helped him a lot with his
stepson. We found some of his correspondence relating to those years.
Two or three papers mention you, and how you helped to regain control of
the issue."

John Cooper, along with his partner James Barker, had tried to overturn
the company, Coopervilla, when he was chairman, as his stepson had run
up some debts and he'd had to put up the money in order to prevent the
bank from repossessing the premises.

They continued talking about old times and new times, for both him and
for her. She continued with her 'experiment', crossing and uncrossing her
bare legs, the hem of her skirt riding high up her thighs and revealing the
white lace of her underwear. He was not talking much anymore,
distracted by the tantalizing flesh in view. He kept trying to make eye
contact, but his gaze dropped repeatedly, admiring the object of his
desire.

He was flushed, but could clearly see that he was being teased! He
pleaded weakly, "Helen, please... stop! Stop tormenting me!"

However, she, enjoying the game, continued. A short time later,

smoothing her skirt, she got up and went to the door, where she paused,
looking back at him. He accepted her unspoken invitation and came
quickly to the door where he embraced her. She returned the embrace
and when he bent to kiss her she did not push him away. She felt a
sudden rush of affection for him and, gently breaking the embrace, told
him that she liked him too.

Michael

What had happened? True, I'd been attracted to her to begin with based
solely on her looks, but when we'd met for a drink I'd come to like her
personality too. Could it be that she felt the same way? She'd accepted
my embrace and even let me kiss her! Did she like me? She had said as
much... but, perhaps that was all part of the job.

She had surprised me greatly with that examination. The first awakening
of my atrophied genitals in a long time! I felt like Gene Kelly in that play
'Singing in the Rain'! I put the radio on and danced, not caring what type
of music it was. Anything would do! I had to forget this event, for I was
by no means sure it would be repeated, despite what she had said. In an
effort to distract myself, I headed down to the dining room, where I had
another tasteless dinner. As I ate, I planned to bump into Helen as often
as possible, hoping to increase my chances of a repeat performance!

And it worked! I saw her and invited her to have coffee with me in the
cafeteria; we chatted about this and that, but neither of us mentioned our
little encounter. In the days that followed we saw each other often and
became friends. She even came to my room. It was as if we were more
than just doctor and patient. Sometimes she would call on me unawares,
in a medical capacity. I think she really liked me. But... how? Could that
be possible?

One day, when we were chatting in the lounge bar, I let it all out. "Listen,
Helen. I am more than surprised by the, shall we say, circumstances, the
discoveries I am making since I began my stay here. For instance, about
your grandfather being my benefactor and friend Dr Tathill, and then my
old boss James Barker, and then...being admitted into the geriatric project
through Simon Spencer! It seems there are an awful lot of coincidences!
Too many perhaps?!"
"I guess you're talking about the Spencer Foundation?", she asked.

"Yes, but I thought you weren't supposed to know anything regarding the
details of my connection to the Foundation?"

"True. You're quite right about that! I'm not supposed to know the whys
and wherefores of a lot of things that happen around here. That doesn't
stop me wondering and drawing my own conclusions! Better to just leave
it at that and say no more about it. It's a good job and well-paid. I'd
advise you not to go asking too many questions, specially to Simon or
Harry. Better to keep any doubts you may have to yourself for now."

She appeared lost in thought for a moment, then continued, "One other
thing, Michael. Just to change the subject completely... speaking as your
doctor and having seen that you now have an above-average reaction to
sexual stimulus, I'm sure that you must miss having sexual contact with
someone."

Was this a proposition?!

I laughed, a little nervously. "Indeed I do! It does come to my mind now

all too often, you being largely to blame! And you're right, I want to! but
the thing is that,... you see...in my daydreams I do keep imagining that
that person is you. And forgive me for saying it again, but... could it be?"
I didn't wait for her to answer before brushing it off, "I know, I know...
stupid of me. You know, even better than I, that I'm an old man, just out
of the bodywork garage! But... still... a man can't help but hope, against
all logic..."

"Hold it right there", she stopped me. "Don't pity yourself! You're not
taking me seriously as a doctor. No doubt that is my fault! I'm sorry, but
I'm afraid I'm a married woman. We have some problems, but we're
working through them and I have no intention of breaking my vows."

I recalled what Simon had told me about her marital situation before and
said, "as a matter of fact, Mr Spencer, I mean Simon... yes, why not? Just
between us we can call him Simon. He told me something of your
relationship with your husband."

She was clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation and made
it clear she did not wish to continue. "Sorry Michael, but it's a topic I don't
enjoy talking about. It's personal and I don't want to talk about it. Now...
regarding you, from doctor to patient, I need to gain information about
your sexual behaviour for my report. Wouldn't you like to meet, here on
the premises, a nice girl to relieve your tension? We have a special guest
lounge downstairs where you could meet, and, for your information, the
service is free of charge for certain guests, you being one of them."

"Yes, yes... but... before we talk about that, I need to explain what's on my
mind. I know you must be aware, due to your medical expertise, though it
would be extremely hard to imagine for anyone outside the project, just
how crazy this experience has been for me. I suppose it's the same with
all patients... but my own feeling is, and has been from the start, one of
astonishment. To look at myself in the mirror and see the changed body.
To feel that my muscles are revitalized, and no less, no less at all, to feel
that something that has been pretty much asleep for many years
becomes awake and erect. You know what I mean..."

"Of course I do. I told you it was my job here to evaluate that fact,
remember? Sex is one of the most basic instincts that human beings
have, both men and women. Speaking not only as your doctor, but also
as your friend, you really should accept the idea of using that new virility.
Just... not with me. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."

"Hell!" I couldn't hide my frustration. "Bloody hell... Why not?" I huffed,

even though she had already answered that question. She said nothing,
but waited for me to collect myself. After a brief pause I sighed and asked
her how I was to let her know of my decision. She handed me a pager and
told me that, if and when I was ready, I should press 'H' three times and
she would make the arrangements as soon as possible, though she
worked from 9:00 to 18:00, five days a week and may, on occasion, be
attending to something outside the clinic.

"OK, OK. I get it. And... since it absolutely cannot be you... well... I'll let
you know tomorrow."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now then. Listen... I have to finish up some work in
my office. I'm afraid I can't spend any more time with you than is
appropriate for a medical investigation. But, if you wish, we can have
coffee together tomorrow? I'll be free after lunch, around 13:00. Meet me
in the cafeteria?"

"Sure, why not? I'll see you there at 13:00." We moved as if to kiss lightly
on the cheeks, but, somehow, we ended up embracing. I kissed her lips
lightly, on tiptoe, and she did not reject me.

Finally, in the first week of December, Simon turned up. He'd been
travelling abroad, sorting out various problems and dealing with the
ensuing paperwork. He greeted me, "Hi, Michael. You look wonderful!
And so much trimmer than before! How much do you weigh now?"

I appreciated the compliment and told him that I thought it was around
twelve stone, or seventy-six kilos, almost twenty kilos less than when I'd
arrived!

"Fantastic! Congratulations! To you and to the clinic! What does Dr

Hilmarton think of your progress?"

"Actually, I don't know. The last time I asked for him he was away. Some
sort of medical convention in the States, I believe. I wanted to ask him for
my... "

"Ah, yes, yes. True. I was also invited, but forgot all about it what with all
my other problems. Who's been looking after you then?"

"Well, besides several physiotherapists taking care of my daily rehab

exercises, Dr Fowler, who told me he'd been in charge during the
procedure, and Dr Vivian Radler. According to their assessments, I'm
shaping up quite well! Also, I was 'visited' by a young lady. First of all,
strictly as a doctor. Helen Tathill. Don't you remember? You introduced
me to her, after we had dinner in Somerford. The three of us had a drink
in the staff lounge. Well, we've become quite good friends. I've had the
pleasure of her company several in the cafeteria, out of her practice
hours, of course."

"Ahhhh, yes.... the beautiful Helen. Have you now ? How do you find
her?"

"Well, what can I say... I like her a lot. A lot...!"

"And have you slept with her?"

The directness of the question took me aback slightly. "Hell no! I wish!
But she keeps turning me down every time I bring it up."

"Well... such is life, and beware; she's married, though going through a bit
of a rough patch right now with her husband, as I think I already told you."

"Yes, you did, but she refused to talk about that. She only said that both
of them are to blame and that they're working on it. Then she changed
the subject! She's good at doing that!"

"Well... let me tell you, Michael... she has a soft spot for you. I could see it
the other day."

"Really? Well, that's funny. She must see me as an old man, which indeed
I am, but... what can I say... if she does, I'm certainly pleased to hear it.
Still, I know she must remember who, and how old, I am, regardless of my
appearance."

"True enough. But it's up to her. And perhaps you should also remember
that you're married and love your wife and your family, eh? And now,
before anything else, let me ask you. Are you taking your pills? Not the
ones you brought from Spain, but the ones prescribed by Dr Hilmarton?"

"Oh yes, yes, one white pill with breakfast and one blue with my dinner."
"OK, good. We'll talk more about this medication, and how long you'll
need to take it, later. But, now, as you only have a few more days left at
the clinic, we have to talk about your future. Let's start with your request
to borrow money. I checked with the accounting department and... it's
fine, but we can only go as far as 200,000, which is 251,000, rather
than the 300,000 you requested. Even so, it is quite a lot.

If you agree, we can transfer this amount to the Barclays branch in

Madrid. It cannot be done officially, you understand. It's part of the
working funds we receive there from some 'client' after a job is done. And
you 'll have to sign and accept it as a debt you have with the Foundation.
OK?"

"Well, I suppose so Simon, but how am I going to earn that kind of

money?"

"Now, that's the big question! How are you going to repay the 200,000?
Well, I'll give you the answer. Working for us! For me at the SSIA, in the
London office.

It's one of the companies the Foundation has in London, but for the time
being I cannot tell you what type of work it will involve. The business is
conducted from the Hampstead office, where I am the CEO of a staff of
sixteen, some of them experts in cyber technology. That's all I can tell
you for the moment, and I expect you understand that this information is
confidential.

We chatted a while longer about the general state of the world, Spain in
particular, and also regarding the likely reception I would receive upon my
arrival home, by my family, friends and neighbours, about which, I
confess, I hadn't thought that much about. However, as the moment drew
nearer, I found that I felt a strange feeling of foreboding. The realisation
shocked me. He tapped me on the shoulder, interrupting my reverie, and
told me he was sure I would 'weather the storm.' With that, he left me,
hurrying off upstairs, while I went to my next appointment with the
physiotherapist to develop my already strong muscles. He promised to
see me before I finished the programme, when he would give me further
instructions, including the contact details of the man I was to see in
Barclays and the details of my flight, plus the ticket. He told me it would
probably be Jerry who would take me to the airport.

Later that week I went with Helen to the shopping centre near Somerford
to get myself a new set of clothes for my now trimmer body. We were
already good friends and had a good time together. With my appearance
as it was, I could easily be mistaken for her father. We were joking and
chatting and unconsciously slipping our arms around each other, and then
withdrawing them when we noticed the odd looks of strangers.

She looked at me with a promising smile, and said quite coquettishly,

"Michael, now that you're nearing the finishing line, you don't need
another check-up to see that you are quite recovered. However, if you'd
like to meet Alice again, or someone else, at the special room in the
clinic... Didn't you like her? You haven't said anything about that, but she
told me that maybe you weren't very happy. Would you like a different
girl? " It seemed to me, by the way she looked at me as she said it, that
she was suggesting herself as that girl!

"Bloody hell! If you're volunteering... I'd be very happy, but.... but... think.
I suppose it wouldn't end well for either of us. Firstly, I'd feel as if I were
taking advantage of you because of your rocky marital situation. And,
from my point of view, it might not do me any good in the long-run
because I'm already crazy about you and if we were to take it further, I'm
afraid I would be lost! And... I'm going home soon. To my wife! I have no
idea what kind of reception I'll get, or if she'll be able to reconcile herself
to the changes that have taken place. It would be even more difficult to
try to resume my life if I began an affair with you, much as I would love to!
Dear Helen... I'm afraid I have to try to forget about you. It will be better
for both of us. Don't you agree?"

"I know you're right. I made a mistake here... but it was YOU who..."
She had lowered her defences that afternoon because we were both
having such a good time shopping together and, for a moment, she
must've forgotten her own rules of common sense in order to make such a
proposition. It must have cost her a considerable effort, and I, with my
clumsy refusal, had made her feel bad. Clearly embarrassed, she wouldn't
look at me, angry and disappointed.

She barely said a word to me after that and we drove back to the clinic in
silence. She helped me out with my shopping bags, said a curt goodbye,
and drove off. Something about having to go feed her dog, though I was
pretty sure she didn't have one.

Had I made another mistake? Both ashamed, we avoided eye contact

whenever our paths crossed after that and I spent my time as I had before
I'd met her. I kept up with the gymnastic exercises and the jogging, and,
apart from that, I would spend my leisure time chatting and playing
billiards and chess with some friends I'd made among the other guests.
One of them was a Russian, Ivanof, who spoke very good English.
Probably a retired spy!

A short time later, around mid-December, Harry came and gave me a

mobile, complete with WIFI, and told me I could use it to call my wife. He
urged me not to mention either the name of the town or the clinic and I
assured him that I wouldn't.

Dr Hilmarton had returned, and before long he requested that I go see him
in his office. He seemed much more cheerful now, greeting me with an
open smile and asking me how I was feeling now that the treatment was
at an end. He told me he had read all the reports about my physical
development, and it seemed I had overcome all challenges with
exceptional success, probably due to my strong genetic origin. He said to
come back in three or four days after he'd had a chance to speak with Dr
Radler and, if all was in order, he would authorise my release from the
centre.
"Bear in mind," he said, "these pills we give you have to be taken every
day for two years. It'll take that long for your body to settle down
completely after all the changes that have been made. Here you have my
prescription, just in case any questions should be asked." With that he
handed me a package which he said contained three-hundred and
seventy-five white and three-hundred and seventy-five blue pills, enough
for one year, to take with me. "In the unfortunate case that you lose the
package, you must contact me immediately at the clinic. Do not report
the loss to the police. Also, I must advise you that, should you stop taking
them, your health will suffer seriously. I understand that your mobile has
been set up with the proper alarms, and numbers to contact us in case
quoting the following reference: x x x x x x x x x PVZ." I confirmed that it
had and we concluded the meeting.

A few days later, on 20th December 2014, I was released from the clinic
with the various medical reports and a little case containing my pills. I
called Harry in London, who confirmed that he had spoken with Mr
Spencer and had been advised to come and meet me, either at
Somerford, or more likely at Heathrow, before I left for Seville.

I also called home and spoke with Isabel who was happy to hear I would
be coming home for Christmas and was excited to tell the girls.

After lunch I told Mrs Adams, who also congratulated me on my success in

the project. After some hesitation I asked her if she would mind calling
Helen Tathill on the internal line. Then... "Yes", she said after a while, "you
can go up to see her now. Take the 'staff only' lift there to the third floor."

I followed her instructions and found Helen's office without too much
difficulty. I knocked and she must've been close to the door, for she
opened it instantly. She gave me her hand and took me in a warm
embrace. She'd heard the news of my departure and was happy to have
the chance to say goodbye. "Excuse me for being such a bitch the other
day. It took me a while to understand your reasoning, but now I see that it
was definitely the right thing to do. So... tell me... what are you going to
do now Michael? Are you returning home?"

"Hmmm... that's a very good question. I've been turning it over and over
in my mind, because as the moment draws near, I find that I'm more and
more worried about it. In fact, I think it's going to be quite difficult. I keep
asking myself, 'what is there for me to do?' There will no doubt be some
issues readjusting to things, particularly regarding my wife and children.
Will we be able to get used to it and settle down as we were before? Or
perhaps not quite as before, but with some sort of understanding?
Perhaps we'll end up living together but apart. You understand...it'll be
difficult, perhaps impossible, to resume life as before. We were...well...
not happy exactly, but getting along well enough. And physically, as time
passed, I was experiencing more and more health problems. I was quite
aware of my limited time, whereas now..."

"Now, Mike, you are quite a young man. Well, not young but, you have
the looks of a fifty-five year-old and the stamina of a thirty-five year-old, or
so they told me. You can expect to live a long time, assuming everything
continues to go well, and nobody will know your real age. So... cheer up!
When are you leaving?"

"Harry's coming to pick me up tomorrow at 10:30 to take me to Heathrow

airport, where I expect to meet Simon. He said something about wanting
me to work in the Hampstead office. Something about needing a liaison
for Spanish clients. And... how about you Helen? What are your plans
going forward?"

"Well, well indeed, things are much better than before, with my husband I
mean. He wants us to give our marriage another go, but I'm not so sure.
Because, well... I don't know, maybe I'm just not in love with him
anymore."

"What about children?"

"Don't be daft Michael! I'm not the mothering type! And having children
is never a good idea if the marriage is rocky! No... I'm quite happy
working here at Bioclyde, helping people recover their lost youth. It's
becoming more and more interesting. And who knows... I'm only thirty-
nine now, but time flies and soon it could be my turn. I'm saving all the
money I can just in case, because these treatments, these projects are for
rich people, probably your case... but it's not so easy for me."

"My case?" Of course, I couldn't talk about my case, so instead I just

made out that it was a case of one favour in return for another. I told her,
"I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I got to know
Simon Spencer in Seville in April 2009. He was facing a spot of difficulty
with the Spanish Home Office and, through a friend of mine, who in turn
had a friend high up in the local administration... Well, I helped a little to
untangle the snare in which he was caught! He was grateful and we
exchanged details. A few months later I had a heart attack and got in
touch with him, remembering his promises. And there, you see, I was
lucky. He made me an offer and I decided to take the risk and see what
would happen. I couldn't very well pass up such an opportunity could I?
Especially with my failing health. You remember how I was three months
ago? I still don't know if I made the right decision, but... Sometimes you
just have to go for it, despite the risks. Better to regret what you do,
rather than what you don't do!

Anyway, how about you? Will you be working here all through
Christmas?"

"No, no. Things are quite slow here during Christmas. I'll take a few days
holiday with my mother and other family. She's up in a little town north of
Cambridge. She's a widow but has a nice income. My brother will also be
there with his wife and three children. My nephews are a hand-full and my
sister-in-law, well... she can be rather demanding! Still, what can you do?
Can't live with them; can't kill them either! So you see, I'm not really
looking forward to the happy Xmas time. Look, I'd like to take your email
and mobile number. I won't call you, but I'd love to hear from you, when
you have the opportunity of course. Let me know how things go with your
family... how your wife deals with your return as a younger man. I've
heard that it can be difficult so, please, call me whenever you wish, if ever
you need someone to talk to who knows your situation. Do you think
you'll be back here at some point? I'd love to see you..."

We were both very emotional. I could feel my eyes well up with tears and
could see that she was feeling the same. We kissed. A goodbye kiss.
Then she made some tea and we drank it with a few biscuits there in her
office, I on the chair and she on the couch. I wasn't supposed to be on the
third floor at all, but as I was basically done, in fact I had the release
document with me, we took it for granted it was all right to stay.

I don't remember who started it, but I think it was her, for she went and
locked the door and then took off her jumper and bra before coming to
help me to undress. Despite my urgency she gently restrained me
showing me that she preferred to take our time. She was right to do so,
and we both savoured the experience, knowing that it would probably be
the first and last time we would be together in this way. It was everything
I had hoped for and more. Afterwards she told me she had known it would
be like that with me, and she was very happy too. I stayed for a long
while after that, the two of us just enjoying each other's company. In the
end she all but had to throw me out of the office, telling me she had to
see another patient. "Helen", I shouted, and she giggled girlishly as she
closed the door.

I went down for dinner at 19:00. Later on I met Ivanov to say goodbye,
and we had a few quick games of chess. I lost twice! I had no head for it
and I told him I was too excited at the prospect of finally leaving. He
understood my anticipation well enough. He still had at least three weeks
to go. He was seventy-eight years old, a Moscow citizen and ex-civil
servant. He had no family and wanted to live a longer life, travelling as
much as he could. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers. At that
point, he seemed to be the only friendly person there.
Previously there had been about twenty other people there of all kinds
and nationalities, but they generally kept to themselves. There had been
a nice friendly group of North-Americans before, but as I looked around
the dining room I found they had left one by one days ago. For the most
part, it seemed, the patients kept to themselves. As Simon had told me,
most of them were rich, rich enough to pay an exclusive clinic like
Bioclyde. Some of them started the programme around my age, but
others were much older. Clinics like this one, with a comparable success
rate, would probably be fairly numerous, but also very competitive, each
aiming to outdo the competition in terms of the most advanced
treatments and most prestigious clientele.

I went to bed, as usual, at 23:00 after watching a bit of TV, but I was
feeling quite nervous and was unable to sleep. Around 2:00 I decided to
boil some water to make myself one of the sleep-inducing infusions I'd
been given on arrival. I had seldom used them during the treatment, but
on this occasion I needed it.

My alarm went off at 8:00 and I got up, showered and shaved, feeling a
little tired still for having had only around five hours sleep. I went down
for breakfast, realising that at last there were no restrictions! I could have
whatever I wanted! However, I knew I'd have to be careful with my diet if
I wanted to maintain my new level of fitness. I would have to be careful
with both food and alcohol. I had decided that I would continue jogging as
I always felt good afterwards. I suppose it was the endorphins that made
me feel so content after running and I could walk more than twelve
kilometres without getting tired.

With my suitcase packed, filled with lots of new clothes, shoes and a few
presents that I had bought in Somerford with Helen, I left my room, the
room that had been my home for over three months, and went down to
wait for Harry, first in the hall and then in the cafeteria, letting Mrs Adams
know where I could be found, and asking her to tell Helen when I left the
clinic. I would've liked to tell her that Helen and I... but after three words
she understood what I was trying to say, and she put a finger to her lips
with a 'shhh' to say nothing more. Helen had been my saviour. My
private miracle! But It couldn't work out in the long-term. We both knew
that! I raised my head and saw Mrs Adams winking at me. I realized that
she knew I'd been with Helen the evening before and supposed that she
guessed what we had been up to. I knew Mrs Adams to be discrete and
always helpful. I didn't think it likely she would gossip about it, firstly
because she and Helen were close friends, and secondly because she
liked me.

At 10:20 Harry opened the glass doors at the entrance and said good
morning to everybody before turning to me. "Hello, Michael. Ready to
go?"

"Hello Harry. Thanks for coming all this way. I could've taken a taxi,
but..."

"No, no, Michael. As Mr Spencer couldn't make it himself, he asked me to

come in his place. It's no problem at all! We'll head off presently, but just
let me say hello to Dr Hilmarton."

He took longer with Dr Hilmarton than I expected, so we were fifteen

minutes late hitting the road. Harry drove quickly, calling Simon on the
way.

"Hello Mr Spencer, Michael and I are en route to Heathrow and the road is
clear for the time being. ETA 11:30."

We arrived in good time and there we were, in the same VIP lounge,
nearly three month since this whole surreal experience had begun. I was
wearing a suit and tie, and an overcoat. My hair had grown thicker and
darker and I no doubt looked like a different man to the one who had been
here three months previously. We ordered a coffee and sat down to wait
for Simon, who was due to arrive around midday.

As we drank our coffee, I wondered if Harry knew about my biological

relationship with Simon. If he suspected anything, he hid it well and I
certainly wasn't going to tell him! after all, as far as I knew, he was just a
trusted employee. As Simon arrived, Harry rose hurriedly to meet him.
They exchanged words, speaking softly, so that I couldn't hear. I
remained at the table and waited for Simon to come over, not wanting to
interrupt whatever private business they had to talk about. As usual,
Harry walked off to fulfil some request of Simon's and Simon came
towards me. I rose to greet him and we shook hands.

"Hi Michael, each time that I see you, you're looking better and better. I
must say, the clinic does amazing things! So, when was the last time we
saw each other, a month ago?"

"Yes, something like that. I'm sorry to say I can't return the compliment.
You look awfully tired. I guess you've been working hard. It shows by the
dark bags under your eyes. Why don't you take advantage of the same
remedies that Bioclyde provides for its patients?"

"Yes, you're quite right. I could definitely use some of that, but I simply
don't have time at the moment due to office problems. It was for that
reason that I wasn't able to go up to Somerford to pick you up and talk
more there. However, I'm here now, and I have the papers you'll need.
They're here in this briefcase, along with your flight ticket. I also have a
work contract for you with the SSIA for an unlimited period. I'm terribly
sorry, but I'm afraid I have to dash now. Things are getting critical at the
office and I need to be there to take care of things. You'll also find some
money, not the amount you requested, but 10,000 to cover your
expenses until you come back here. You will come back, won't you?"

"Yes, I believe so. I've been thinking about my future, particularly my

homecoming, which I imagine will be pretty difficult on account of my
physical changes. Also, I think it's important, having done this, to make
the most of the opportunities now available to me, thanks to you. As they
say, I'll die with my boots on."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. Call me when you're expecting to come
over, times, flight numbers and so on. Just let me put my number in your
phone quickly. OK, done. And if I'm engaged for some reason, you can
also call Harry. We don't have much time now. Let me tell you once again
what to do when you get there. You must go before Christmas,
remember? We agreed with Seor Herrera? First you must go to pick up
your car at Vegar, Seville, and as soon as possible after that, head to
Barclays in Madrid to pick up the money. In the envelope I've just given
you, you have the name and private phone number of your contact there.
He is known as Mr P. Graham, and he'll be expecting you. Well... I think
that's all for now. Have a good Christmas, and I'll see you soon!"

"Yes, Happy Christmas Simon and see you in January!"

He walked quickly away to meet Harry, and I made my way to the BA

counter to check in my luggage.

It was a pleasant flight, just two and a half hours long, with some very
attractive and friendly hostesses, and we arrived on time. I had travelled
business class so they had served tea and coffee with pastries. I had
eaten my fill and so wasn't hungry when I arrived. It was 17:30 on
December 21st 2014.

After a fairly long wait, I finally got my luggage and took a taxi to Vegar,
S.A, arriving in just twenty minutes. Although Herrera wasn't there, I had
no problems getting the new car. The Mercedes A200! Shiny and clean as
if new! They explained to me how everything worked and how to open
the filling tap. The tank was almost empty, with enough for perhaps thirty
kilometres. I would have to stop at the first possible petrol station.

I had called Isabel from the airport to let her know I should be arriving
sometime before 20:00. Driving the A200 down the motorway to Cadiz
was a great experience. The car glided along soundlessly with its
powerful 136 horsepower engine. It was supposed to be both automatic
and manual, according to preference and I chose manual. I didn't try out
all of the car's gadgets. There would be plenty of time to learn how to
handle the beautiful beast!
As I neared home, I came to the lovely view of the bay of Cadiz. I stopped
the car before heading along the Paseo Maritimo, found the classic FM
radio channel, and listened there for about fifteen minutes. Thinking...
thinking hard. What am I going to do with myself now? I couldn't help it.
I had to put my hands on the wheel to stop them from shaking. I had to
pull myself together. I started the motor and continued towards home.

I arrived at 20:45. It was already dark. I opened the big gate with the
remote control I'd kept from my old car, hooted the horn to announce my
arrival and stopped midway, under the heather.

Then, everything was 'fiesta' , like in the American films. "Bienvenido a

Casa, Papa!". Squeezed and hugged by everybody. Isabel, Raquel,
Aitana, Jose, Alexandra, Luis and Diego. My whole family were there!
They'd got together with my wife, specially to welcome home a crazy old
man who'd been on an adventure! Of course, they found me strange.
Taller. Younger. They couldn't stop looking at me, exchanging looks with
each other, their expressions a mixture of laughter and amazement. After
a while I got out the presents I had bought for each of them. More hugs
and kisses. Then I took my suitcase upstairs to change, ignoring Isabel's
protests that I must be tired. The fact was that I was not tired at all! I
was thinking how wonderful it was to be home. How was it possible that I
hadn't missed it more during my time at the clinic?

I changed quickly and headed back downstairs. We toasted my health

and enjoyed the spread of crisps, olives, peanuts, almonds and ham, all
washed down with ice-cold beer. They bombarded me with questions,
everybody talking at once; "how was the place?", "what about the
doctors?", "how were the meals?", "did you make many friends?"

"Yes, yes, I'll show you the photos later. Rich Russians, Italians and
Englishmen with whom I played billiards or chess some evenings. Meals?
Tasteless and scarce." And then came the big question from Aitana and
Raquel, "But Dad... all, all that time there, and treatments at an elegant
clinic are supposed to cost a lot of money. How are you going to pay for
all this? Surely it couldn't have been free for you. Could it?"

"No, no, of course not. In fact, I had a sponsor. A man called Simon
Spencer... A rather rich, upper-class English baron, who's also a doctor..."

I stopped, realising that of course they didn't know and he couldn't tell
them, just how he had come to know Simon Spencer. Perhaps he could
reveal the truth later... but not now. He had come to celebrate Christmas
and he didn't want anything to spoil it. He had thought about this before
and had decided on a story which, though made up, he believed would
sound plausible.

"Well, yes, of course I'll tell you all about him. But let's have dinner first,
shall we?"

So, it was about two hours later that I relayed my tale. "You see, I met
him in Seville. A friend from my times at the Campano Golf Club. We
used to play together and, as his Spanish was quite poor, I used to
translate for him. He had my phone number and invited me to join him in
Seville, for old times' sake. He's a doctor and was attending a geriatrics
convention. He remembered how I had slipped a disc in the lumbar
vertebra playing golf and one of the talks was on the improvement of the
lumbar spine. His name's Simon Spencer, and he's the Chairman of the
Spencer Foundation, who from time to time offer grants to worthy people
willing to submit to innovative treatments for the regeneration of
damaged organs. His offer was, obviously, very persuasive, with a two-
day deadline. I had very little time to decide, and so I did. I regret that I
couldn't share any of this with you at the time, particularly with you
Isabel. But it was impossible. It was all just too complex and so I thought
it better to put my absence down to Captain Yatir's invitation. Dr Spencer
examined my medical history in Seville and saw that I would likely not
have that much longer to live. I would therefore be the perfect research
subject! He made me an offer I couldn't refuse, virtually free of charge.
Dr Spencer also works on behalf of the organisation that manages the
Spencer Foundation's funds."

This tale was met with uncomprehending stares! But , I had to stick to it,
at least for the time being. I couldn't possibly reveal the true nature of my
relationship with Simon Spencer.

Both of my daughters asked at once, "But, Daddy! These treatments

cannot be entirely free! You'll have to pay back at least some of it... won't
you?"

"Well, yes. But, only part of it. Some expenses, on miscellaneous items
were not included in the Foundation grant. I have signed a contract to go
back to England when Christmas is over and start working at their London
office. They've given me advance funds, which I requested to cover some
financial needs here. The Spencer Foundation has some money for me in
a specific branch of Barclays in Madrid. Simon told me that if I wanted to
borrow it, all I had to do was go there, give some fella the letter, and I
would be given 250,000 cash. This money would be a loan from the
Foundation, as an advance for the work I'll be doing for the company from
January onwards.

Maybe it's an altogether stupid idea, but I think it's worth thinking about it
tonight. I'll do whatever is convenient for all of us. If you think it could
come in handy now, to settle loans or other debts, I would ask Aitana to
accompany me to Madrid first thing tomorrow. She could play at being my
secretary in front of the fellow keeping the funds, a Mr Graham, and help
me find the way there and back, with the help of the GPS, though I don't
know how it works yet! And then we can come back and enjoy this
Christmas time together. Do you think I shouldn't take up his offer? He
was rather quick to accept my request... and if I do, they will have me
pinned down to work how they want, where they want, until I'm in a
position to pay it all back. You know what I mean?"
----------------END PART ONE------------------

-------------------- PART TWO --------------------------

It was Wednesday 8th January 2015. I was sitting in my cubicle in the

SSIA office, a narrow little space with glass walls, facing my computer
screen, and reading a number of files that contained reports from an
agent - Harry had carefully handed me a flash-drive to browse over the
cases the company had been involved in during 2012. All the ones I had
read so far dealt with matters concerning companies or political parties in
South American countries. Some reports were rather lengthy, while
others were in Spanish, with an English translation attached.

I had to concentrate, and take notes, and train my brain to memorize

them in order to be able to summarize the specific reports for when Harry,
at random, would ask me about. It was difficult training! I had always had
a good memory, but now it was being tested to the limit! I had to prove I
could retain names and facts. They information was highly classified,
Harry had told me. However, despite the subjects matter dealt with in
those reports being interesting, I couldn't help my mind flashing back to
the days when I had finally decided to return to England.

I had told my family that I was going to work for this firm, but had made
no mention of my true relationship with the CEO, Simon Spencer. I felt
that, for now at least, it should remain a secret between the two of us. To
begin with, my family didn't think that I was serious. They thought it must
all be some ridiculous joke! However, they changed their minds when I
told them I had to go to Madrid the next day to get some money that the
company had deposited for me there. An advance from the corporation.
They were astonished by the amount. "That much? In advance for a job
with his company? They doubted the veracity of the contract, as did I, but
in the end the need for the money overcame any other concerns. It had
been impossible for my son-in-law, Luis, to accompany me to Madrid, as
he and Raquel had to travel to Holland on the 24th and had a lot to take
care of before the trip, including doing the Christmas shopping for Luis'
family. So, in the end it was Aitana who went with me. Mr Graham had
been surprised by my request to cash only 150,000. This went against
his instructions from SSIA. We put the cash into two plastic carrier bags
and, before beginning the journey back, Aitana found a safe place in her
house to hide 60,000.

We took turns driving and weren't too tired when we got back to Cadiz. I
offered an equal amount to Raquel, and she accepted, though somewhat
reluctantly. I stressed the fact that they must spend it wisely, little by
little, for it was black money that could not be put in any bank account.
All in all I was content with the result of the trip. The trip had only taken
one day! It was 22nd December, the lottery day! We didn't win, but we
were now financially stable thanks to the money I had borrowed.

I reiterated the importance of being careful about how to spend the

money and keeping the secret of its origin. Isabel was happy for them,
but she said she had enough with her pension. She finally agreed to keep
25,000 at home, well hidden, in case the 'girls' needed some more cash
in the future. That way, Christmas passed with all the family together.
Plenty of good food and presents, but lacking the Merry Spirit of the
season. Everyone appeared happy on the surface, but it was clear that
they were all silently reproaching me for my decision to return to England,
leaving Isabel alone. Both my daughters spoke to me, on separate
occasions, rejecting my defence that I had done what I did because I had
such a short life expectancy. They asked me why I had felt it necessary to
change my face. "You look nearly our age!" They were right. It had been
a misunderstanding. The photo I had given Simon for the plastic surgeon,
showed my face at fifty-three. I had supposed the surgeon would remove
only the excess fat on my neck and the bags under my eyes, but they had
reshaped my face to match the photo. After the surgery, when I saw my
face in the mirror, I was happy, without thinking of the consequences.
And now, it could not be undone.

Anyway, after they all left, and Isabel and I were left alone, it was worse.
She had been distracted with all the family together, but then, with the
big house nearly empty, she seemed to realize that she was living with a
stranger. And, despite my pleas, she had moved to sleep in another room,
where she would stay, quietly, not answering me when I called her to join
me in doing this or that.

She wouldn't come out of the room, not even to eat or cook, obviously
sad and angry because of what I had done. In the end, she said she would
be glad to see me go. Filled with bitterness, she told me to, "go to Hell!"

On 3rd January 2015 I booked my ticket to London. My wife kept saying,

"Now I'm sure Miguel, you're leaving me for good."

"No. No, of course not, Isa! I'll come back as often as the work allows."

She didn't believe me and told me so plainly, saying, "I'm afraid I find that
impossible to believe! You'll lead a new life now. You look so young that...
and I shall remain my old tired self. I think that what you did was very,
very selfish. You are already retired. You get your pension; we live quite
well with it. But, what are you going to do in that company, or Foundation?
as you call it ... What is the price you're going to pay for it? Have you
considered that, Miguel?"

It seemed she had forgotten that the doctors had given me about six
years to live, and I felt that she would somehow have preferred me dead
in those six or seven years, than to leave her old and alone. She was right
that I couldn't explain what I would be doing for the Foundation, as I really
didn't know myself at that point. I could only trust that Simon would not
let me down and that the work would suit me. I knew that the
corporation, of which he was CEO, among other activities, had contracts
with quite a lot of big multinational companies and government
ministries, in Europe and elsewhere, and that I could fit in well with their
field agents. All I really knew was that I would be dealing with Spanish
speaking clients.

But there was one question which kept playing on my mind. Had I
returned to England because I had promised Simon I would? To work for
him and thus be able to repay the money I had borrowed by working for
his firm? Or was it, perhaps, to take on a challenge! To be part of
something new and daring... to have some excitement in my life again?
Something like what I had done when I was young, only fifty years later?
Or... more likely... had I really come with the hopes of renewing my affair
with Helen? Although we had only had a few hours together in that way,
at that moment, remembering her lovely face and figure, I missed her
terribly.

Being honest with myself, I had to admit that Helen was probably the real
reason I had returned to England. What I had really wanted to do was to
stay in Spain and keep the money. I doubted Simon would take legal
action against me, being my son. I wondered if that had been part of his
plan all along. Was Helen a trap that he had set for me? To ensure that I
kept up my end of the bargain?

Also, there was the matter of the wretched pills! Here in England, I had
the security, the guarantee, or so I wanted to believe, that should I need
to get replacements, I would be able to do so quickly. Dr Hilmarton had
stressed the importance of continuing to take them regularly, making me
aware that the consequences should I stop would be dire. Though I
confess, at the time, I hadn't truly considered the implications of this. I
had only been given a twelve month supply and would have to make a
request for another year's supply before the end of that period. The
request would have to be submitted directly to Dr Hilmarton, via email,
using the special code he had given me. Perhaps if I hadn't kept my word,
or if I wanted to leave in the future, I would not be given access to more
pills! Still... I thought it best not to dwell on such thoughts as I still had
eleven months to go.

Before long I started having bad dreams. The pills... the money... the
money... the pills! I began to feel restless. Like a hostage of the Spencer
Foundation. "The devil!" Simon had told me that that should be my reply,
should anyone ask who had paid for my transformation. And so it
seemed to me that I was living the tale of Dorian Grey! I had indeed
made a pact with the Devil!

Simon and Helen had been right. The damage was done. I felt sad for
Isabel too, but was powerless to change what had happened. However, I
had something to look forward to and my decision to go back to London
now grew stronger. I had promised Helen and Simon that I would return
after the holidays and one side of me was eager to escape the depressing
atmosphere of my home. With that in mind, I made my calculations about
the money. My debt with the Foundation now totalled 150,000, not
including other things like the car and the pocket money I'd been given at
the airport. I would eventually sort it all out with Simon and I did not
expect there would be any issue as a result of my not taking the full
amount of the loan from Mr Graham.

I enjoyed going out in the A200 and did so several times, not only to get
away, but also to take the opportunity to call Helen without having to do
so at home. She was very happy that I had decided to go back to
England, and said that she was looking forward to our reunion. She said "I
told you it wouldn't be easy". She asked me how long it would be before
she would see me again and I told her, "soon".

"But how soon is 'soon', Michael?"

"I'll tell you after the New Year's festivities. There'll be about ten of us
getting together for dinner on the 31st, and again on the 1st. And how
are you, Helen? How're things with your family?"

"Oh, I'm rather enjoying it this time. My sister in law isn't being as much
of a bore as usual! And the children, well... what can you expect... very
NOISY ! I am really eager to leave here and go back to work and to have
you back in England. Look, I already have plans where and when to meet.
I'll tell you when you get here."

So, if I had been a little doubtful, that was the end of it. I bought my ticket
online for 3rd January at 10:45 and, after six uncomfortable days with
Isabel, I bid farewell to my old life for the second time. Luis drove me to
the airport in the A200 and I left it with him, telling him to take care of it
as if it were his own.

I called Harry from the airport to let him know all the details of the flight. I
was sorry to leave the A200 at home, but comforted myself with the
knowledge that I would soon be back to pick it up. Harry told me he was
happy I would be joining the team and told me that either he or Jerry
could probably pick me up at Heathrow on arrival. So... that was it, I
thought. I'm off to London again!

My flight was delayed and I arrived at Heathrow at 14:20. I was surprised

to see that it was neither Harry nor Jerry who was waiting for me, but
someone else holding a banner that said "Mr Velasco". His name was
George. There was quite a lot of traffic on the way to London and we
arrived in Hampstead after around 40 minutes. I asked him if he knew
where Harry's office was and he replied, "surely you mean Mr Stuart? And
yes Sir. I often pick people up and bring them here." When we arrived at
the correct location, George pointed out the office to me, but told me that
it would be closed at that time and that "Mr Stuart told me to take you
to..."

"Mr Stuart?", I cut him off. "But, who is....? Ah, yes, I see. Harry Stuart!
Where did he tell you to take me?"

He didn't seem at all phased by my interruption. "I'm to take you to the

Primrose Hotel, and to help you out with the reception manager and
introduce you as a guest of the company." And so off we went. It was
Friday 3rd January, around 16:00, and already getting dark. The beautiful
Christmas lights were still on all down the high street and Hampstead
looked quite lovely.

It turned out not to be far at all from Harry's office. When we arrived,
George helped me take my suitcase inside. The Primrose Hotel was a nice
brick building, not very high. As instructed, George introduced me as a
guest of the company SSIA. The name was obviously well-known by the
hotel management. The Reception manager took my ID to get a
photocopy and told me the SSIA had booked me in for four days and that
all expenses were covered by them, including the breakfast buffet. The
Manager told me my room was on the second floor, facing the back
garden and advised me that the road got very busy on week days. He
also advised me that, although the first four days would be charged to the
SSIA account, if I wished to stay longer, I would be charged the reduced
rate of 175 per day, including breakfast.

I was given a little map of the area, with the number for 'information' and
the manager recommended a good quality restaurant, just two hundred
yards from the hotel on the left going out of the door. "Tell the maitre d at
the restaurant you are recommended by us."

At that point, George, who had gone out to his car, came back and offered
to pick me up on Monday and take me to the office. I thanked him for the
offer, but told him I was happy to walk, unless the weather prevented it.
"It's no more than, what... half a mile?"

"Yes Sir, about that. But here, take my card just in case you need a car at
some point. I live in the neighbourhood. Have nice stay and welcome
again." With a nod, he left.

What did George know about my status within the company? I didn't
know yet, but judging by the level of courtesy he had shown me, it must
be high! I would soon see!

I was staying in room 225, and a bellboy helped me with my suitcase. I

gave him a 2 tip, but he didn't look very impressed! Expecting more
from the 'foreign gentleman' I suppose!

I was expecting a visit from either Simon or Harry, but none came. After a
while I called Harry. He was kind and wished me "Happy New Year" again,
but said that he wouldn't be able to come as he was tied up with
family, and he supposed that Simon would be too. But he assured me
that Simon knew of my arrival and that I was, anyway, expected at the
office at 8:30 Monday morning, and to be sure to show the letter I had
from the company to the doorman on duty at the gate outside the
building. He told me that he lived in Holland Park, quite a way from
Hampstead, but that he would try to get there in time to show me up, and
introduce me to the people in the office. I was disappointed that I
wouldn't be seeing either himself or Simon, but had to accept that New
Year was a busy time and that people would be busy with family
commitments.

I unpacked my suitcase, clothes, socks, underwear, toiletries, and so on,

and checked that the two boxes of pills Dr Hilmarton had given me at the
clinic were safe and sound. I had never forgotten to take them. I had to
be careful. One in the morning and another in the evening. Besides these
rather bulky boxes, I always carried two small ones with me to make sure I
wouldn't miss a dose if I were on the move. But in that moment, there I
was, free and strong, and eager to get out and find somewhere to get
something to eat and drink.

Before I went out, I wanted to speak with Helen and see how was she
feeling... about things, about us... Anything could have happened, and it
was better that I shouldn't expect too much. She could have changed her
mind regarding our brief affair. I had to know! Even if I were afraid of the
answer.

Nervously, I called her number. I was relieved when she answered. My

number must have come up on her screen, for she knew it was me.
"Michael! Where are you? Are you already in Hampstead? Thank
Goodness you've come. I wasn't too sure you'd be coming after all. Was
it difficult leaving? How was it with...? OK, OK, you'd better tell me in
person! So, you're staying at the Primrose Hotel? Room 225? Is it nice?
When are you starting work? Monday 6th?"

She seemed so happy and excited she hardly let me utter a word, but I did
manage to get in the question about how things had been at her mother's
house.
"Oh! Yes, yes. Everything went quite well. No problems at all! I also
have to be at the clinic on Monday. 10:00 until 18:00. We have to arrange
somewhere we can meet out of the clinic and not too near Hampstead.
Let me make some enquiries. We could go somewhere by train, or I can
always go by car. I'll let you know where and when, OK, Michael? Next
weekend, around 19:00, OK? I'll give you the hotel details once I've sorted
everything out. OK, darling?!

"Yes, yes, OK, OK, my dear Helen. That sounds wonderful! I could also
hire a car and meet you halfway. But, the fact is that I don't trust myself
driving yet on the left side of the road. I will have to do it some time, I
know. But for now I think I had better take the train, or the Green Line."

"Oh! Michael, I'm so happy to hear you're already here! We will see how
we work this out. In the meantime be careful and have a nice time." We
continued exchanging endearments for a little while longer, before
hanging up, both of us looking forward to our reunion. I felt nervous and
relaxed at the same time, but above all, happy. My appetite had returned
with a vengeance and I headed out to find somewhere to eat. I asked at
reception for a pub recommendation. They had already told me about a
good restaurant, but I wasn't really in the mood for fine dining. I wanted
to feel the pulse of England! What I really wanted was a beer in a good
pub, but not too far from the hotel. They told me there was a good place
about 200 yards down the road, on the right. It was called 'The Farmer's
Gate' and also served food.

During my last stay in England it had been a case of airport to clinic and
then clinic to airport. Now, having talked to Helen, and feeling more
relaxed as a result, I wanted to quench my thirst with a good English ale,
and maybe the sandwiches would not be as stale as at the airport. I
was pleased I had talked with Helen, and, despite the temperature not
being more than 6 or 7 C. I enjoyed the walk to the pub. The high street
was full of people and I loved the Christmas lights and decorations. It was
far livelier than Somerford had been last November, with Simon. Not only
due to the time of year, but also to the fact that it was a Friday evening
and dry. I felt like a tourist!

It reminded me of when I had first come here, a lad of only twenty, in

September 1960. Back then it had all seemed so different from Spain. I
had looked around with wonder and surprise. Amazed, even though I had
spent that entire summer, from June to the end of September, as a guide
for English tourists, who in exchange of my long stories about the
highlights of San Sebastian and the surrounding areas, told me how it was
in their towns or villages in Britain. But that was a long time ago. Now, in
2015, I was once again open-mouthed, noticing the differences. Traffic
running on the left. Double-decker buses. All the black cabs with their
green or red lights running to and from Hampstead High Street. I admired
the endless rows of elegant houses with their individual little front
gardens, also colourfully decorated with electrical displays, seemingly all
alike but all different. Then, in different districts, bigger ones... two or
three-story houses, but with the same arrangement, that is, endless rows
of them with underground dwellings that were accessed by a staircase
protected by iron railings painted black, and some decorated with brass
balls. Some looked quite expensive and comfortable, for I had lived in one
such lodging over than fifty years ago, when youth had made me admire
many things just for the unusual look. I still remembered with surprise the
big traffic roundabouts, with the ever-present 'Keep Left' sign.

Such improvements as the roundabouts, 'rotondas' in Spanish, would not

be incorporated into Spanish roads until many years later. The second
place I had lived in London was at Lancaster Gate, close to the Bayswater
Road, which, for a long stretch, runs parallel to Hyde Park, with its
Serpentine Lake. Later I would explore many other parts of London, while
I went around looking for a job, as I only had enough money to keep me
going for four or five months, provided I was very careful with food and
board. The cinema was not too expensive, and it was there, as in many
other situations, where I realized that my English was somewhat limited. I
went twice a week to the Saint Giles English School in Knightsbridge, a
district that I loved. As I became better acquainted with London the list of
places I loved grew and eventually included the whole of central London,
more or less. Marble Arch, with its Speakers Corner, Saint James' Park,
The Mall, Trafalgar Square, the Strand and Charing Cross Station, to
mention only some of the most important ones. I had never seen so many
beautiful buildings and gardens. Parks that were surprisingly called
'Commons'. I looked and looked around enthralled by so many new things
to see.

Ah! But I didn't forget the matter of money. I had stashed away 300, in
a sealed envelope, which I thought would be enough to pay for my tickets
to return to Spain, but I was well aware that money was running out. So,
despite being distracted by everything new, I was also looking for work.
Sometimes I found humble temporary jobs, mainly in restaurants, that for
one reason or other I had to leave. It was usually a case of 'overworked
and underpaid', and that combined with unsanitary conditions drove me
away. Accordingly I had to live in poor districts, north of Notting Hill.
Perhaps not really dangerous but with poor lighting and with plenty of
Jamaican immigrants, chanting and playing their bongos. Passing through
these houses I remember that I was shouted at "Hey, hey, whitey skin"
and other names that I didn't understand. I felt that I didn't belong in
those areas and I was sincerely a bit afraid. I had heard rumours that
people who had been walking alone in those areas had been assaulted. I
think the area was called Clapham High, but I'm not sure of the name.

By that time it was already May 1961, and I went to the Blue Cars office,
in the Strand, the company I had been working with as a guide in San
Sebastian the previous summer. Twice, three times, four times, until I
managed to find John, a friendly employee of Blue Cars that had visited us
in San Sebastian the previous summer. Thankfully he remembered me
and promised to see about getting me work for the coming summer with
Blue Cars. I returned in a few days and was told that the representative,
Olga Soldaski, had agreed to take me on for the coming season and that,
if I were able, I could travel with the first group leaving from Victoria
Station, during the first week of June. John gave me an introductory note
for the Blue Cars bus drivers and after receiving this good news, the first
thing I did was to pack up my things and find lodgings in a different area.
I chose Earl's Court. It was more expensive but worth it to me to be so far
from the potentially dangerous area I had been staying in before.

How things had changed! Now, in January 2015, I was a well-to-do looking
type, among plenty of nice looking people, slowly making my way down
Hampstead High Street, all lit up with decorations, the beautiful shop
windows draped with multicoloured lights, towards the commercial centre
and the mall, past the office, where I would come next Monday to begin
another new stage in my working life. I got to the mall and went to look
around it. It was a big, modern structure built on a square, with streets
joining from there and a big car park with lots of cars. It was already 7pm
and I felt like having something to eat and drink, but I was keen to see
more of the mall. I headed up the escalator to the first floor. There too I
found a lot of interesting shops of various types. The big window displays
were filled with attractive things for sale. I bought a best-selling novel in
the stationary shop, thinking it would be a good way to pass my time in
the hotel. Then, I found a bar/restaurant and sat down on the terrace,
scanning the book and enjoying the view down the spacious mall. I was
attended quickly by a friendly waitress.

I asked for a beer and something to eat. They could prepare me various
kinds of sandwiches and a good chunk of pizza. As for the beer, she was
sorry she could only offer me a bottle of Watneys beer, or Heineken lager.
I asked for a Watney's and a small slice of pizza, but was not really happy
with my choice of venue. But, what the heck, I figured it was a good place
to people-watch for a while and I could head off to find a better pub after I
finished my beer. Unbeknownst to me, that was the beginning of the
adventure that would change my life forever!

After a while the place began to seem nicer. Brighter and more cheerful,
with a large glass tinted roof that gave the place a nice atmosphere. I
found that Watney's beer was not bad after all, and I started to look
around. The lovely waitress in particular caught my eye, dressed with
tight black stretchy trousers and a short white top letting which showed
her tanned navel, with the name Sheila showing on her shirt pocket. I
couldn't take my eyes off her pretty, friendly-looking face and extremely
attractive figure. It was a delight to watch her nimbly slipping around the
tables and chairs with her tray full of glasses and things. She knew I was
watching her and she winked at me as she passed by. After I had finished
my beer and pizza, I asked her for a white coffee and a piece of apple
cake. While I was getting my cash out to pay her, she asked me, "Excuse
me Sir..."

"Yes...?"

"I was just wondering, you're not from around here, are you?"

"Well, actually, no. You're right! I'm Spanish. I've come over from Madrid
to do some work for my company's office here in Hampstead. But, also...
please forgive me if I'm wrong, but you also have an accent. Perhaps
you're not English either by any chance, are you?"

"Well now there, how did you knooow? Actually I am British, but not
English. In fact I'm Scottish, from Aberdeen, and very proud of it too. And
my brother, the one behind the counter is too. I thought my accent had
already worn out, but I was wrong!"

"Well, maybe I have a good ear for languages and accents. Ha,ha,ha.
But, No, noooo, I was kidding. That's not really true, I'm afraid. I just said
that to chat you up, to make you talk a little more with a lonely guy. I
think I will also come tomorrow. Are you open on Saturdays?"

"We're open Tuesday to Saturday from 9:30 to 19:00 and Sundays from
11:00 to 16:00. We only close on Mondays. I'll be glad to see you here
again whenever you like."

"It's very nice up here and I'll definitely come more often, but how often
depends on my new work commitments. I could head up here for lunch
during the week. Of course, my main motivation would be to watch you
navigate those tables in that way of yours!

She gave me a cheeky wink and answered, "Thank you! And if you wish
to see more of my 'navigation skills' why don't you come to the ballroom
'Las Vegas', here in Hampstead, tonight at 10:00, or tomorrow at the same
time. My dancing outfits are quite flimsy, sexy things! I dance with my
brother Jock. He used to dance with my sister-in-law, but she's expecting
a baby in the summer, so I'm partnering with him now. And if you're alone
here, you can get to know the people in our crowd."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit too much of an old fish to fit in with you and your
friends! But, I think I will try to go tonight. Ten o'clock, you said? And
how do I find this place?"

"Yep, ten o'clock. Here, wait a sec. I'm going to give you a plan of where
to find the venue and a ticket, so you can go in for free. And you'll have a
front seat! It's a great show, you'll see."

"Thank you! Fantastic! I can't believe my luck! I'm sure you'll look even
more gorgeous than now. Flimsy costume you said??? You'll be
irresistible, 'Lass'."

She let out a happy laugh, lighting up her features even more. "Why,
thank you! That's a Scottish word, 'lass', how did you know it? Anyway, I
hope you like it." There was a call from the bar and she glanced back over
her shoulder. "Sorry, my brother is calling me. I'd better get back to
work! So... I'll say goodbye for now, and see you later, OK?"

"Yes, OK. I'm looking forward to it!"

"Ooh, before I go... What's your name?"

"It's Miguel Velasco. But please call me Michael. See you later, Sheila."

"Bye, Michael. See you later!"

Well! That was a good idea! And what a nice girl. Well... 'girl'... a girl of
the right age, probably over thirty, though with a splendid body. No
wonder, she's an amateur dancer and has to keep fit to do it. I don't
know, but I'll try to see more of her. She had mentioned her 'crowd', her
friends, but not a boyfriend, and she seemed liberal enough... My double-
minded mind started to argue. Was I already imagining screwing her?
Wasn't I a dirty old man? But, that was the big question! Until recently I
had been an old man, but now, due to my appearance, more like a middle-
aged man. And yes, I now had certain sexual urges that I didn't have
before. Of course, I didn't know at the time that Sheila and I would end up
being much more than friends. I felt unsure of myself. Knowing what I
felt, but not knowing for sure if it was right or wrong. I strolled back
towards the hotel for a shower and a rest. After all, I'd been on the go
since 7:00 in the morning when I left Cadiz. Perhaps some time out would
help to clear my doubts.

On the way back to the hotel I saw a sign which said 'Hampstead Heath
Park' to my right, so I followed the street the arrow pointed to and soon
came to the park's fence. From there I could only partly see the great
expanse of green. Trees, shrubbery, paths and benches, and quite a lot of
people walking around, some with children, others with dogs, couples
hugging and kissing, and people jogging with their tracksuits and canvas
shoes. That gave me the idea of getting changed and then heading back
for a quick jog. I continued back to the hotel intending to change into my
tracksuit and head back out.

Once I got back to my room at the Primrose Hotel, I took off my shoes and
lay down, exhausted with emotions, thinking about my new life. I would
just rest for a bit I thought, but I closed my eyes and dropped instantly to
sleep. Fortunately, in my sleep, I must have covered myself with the
duvet for I was not cold when I awoke nearly two hours later. I was still
fully-clothed. I got up, stretched, and thought, My goodness! I must've
been exhausted, as this almost never happens to me! I've never been
one to take naps in the middle of the day, despite the Spanish tradition.
Perhaps my tiredness was due to the higher latitude? Though it was only
17:00, it was already getting dark. There was certainly no time to go
jogging! Instead, I switched on the TV and plonked myself happily in the
armchair. I did some channel-surfing, watching parts of films or news
reports.

I emptied my jacket pockets and found the ticket that girl, Sheila, at the
Aberdeen coffee shop, had given me for the Las Vegas club! She had
suggested that I could 'see more of her' and I was definitely keen to do so!
This was all new to me. There was Helen, of course, but that had been a
totally different situation. I was mentally ready to flirt with a woman that
a few months ago was beyond my reach. And now? Was it really possible
now? I hadn't just changed physically, but mentally too. I felt younger! I
was no, to all intents and purposes, a little over fifty. Sheila looked to be
around the mid-thirties, perhaps a little older, though with a lean, young
body due to her dancing. She had told me that the dress code for the club
on Fridays was pretty casual. I would have to change my clothes.

I left the hotel at 19:00, having been told how to reach the Las Vegas
Club. I went off down the High Street on foot, gazing from left to right at
the elegant homes of the most wealthy people in London. I had learnt this
was one of the most exclusive districts of London, located just six
kilometres away from Trafalgar Square.

No wonder the rates were so high at the hotel, and I would have to pay
out of my own pocket after my SSIA booking ran out. I would have to see
about it with Harry or Simon, who, by the way, had not been in touch yet,
not even to say hello. I excused them as it was the weekend. I was quite
happy occupying myself. Tomorrow I was planning to go to the centre of
London to revisit the places I used to know quite well half a century ago!!
I went past Hampstead tube station, towards the mall I had visited this
morning. I decided to stop for a beer at a pub I had seen on one street
corner. I also fancied something to eat, as I hadn't had anything since the
Aberdeen bar at around 15:00. The walk from the hotel had made me
thirsty!
On the way I had seen many couples kissing, getting ready for when the
streets were quieter and they could slip unnoticed into the shadows to get
it on. I could hear girls giggling as their partners tickled them, and I
couldn't help remembering the girls I had known on my early twenties.
But that was all long ago. A lifetime ago! And though I thought of those
moments with nostalgia from time to time, I honestly hadn't missed it
much. Only now, with my rejuvenated body, and knowing that, avoiding
some unhappy accident, I would have more time to enjoy life... Just them
I felt as if it were a gift from heaven. Or rather, a gift from Sabrina, sent
from beyond the grave, through her son, our son... the... The Devil?!
Could Simon, the messenger, be carrying a poisonous gift? A sudden
shiver ran down my spine while as I pushed open the pub door, 'The
Golden Swan', of Oakham Ales.

"Hello!" The publican greeted me. A stout, strawberry-blond, middle-

aged man. "What can I get you, Sir?"

"Well, this morning I tried a bottled Watneys, I think, and I liked it, but at
this time of day I think I'd prefer to try some of your own. I saw a sign
outside for, 'Oakham ale', wasn't it? Would you recommend it?"

"Excellent choice Sir, very good indeed! I'll let you have my special mix,
half bitter and half Oakham. Pint, or a half?"

"I think just a half to start with, Sir"

Half a pint to start with... sir..."

"Well, here you are... I hope you like it! And it's not necessary to call me
'Sir'! My name's Andrew, but you can call me 'Andy', for short. Tell me...
where are you from? Your accent sounds maybe Italian? Or Spanish?

"Yes!" Well guessed! I'm from Spain, but I'm not a tourist. I've come here
to attend a course here in Hampstead. By the way, this Oakham, bitter
mix is rather good! Is the kitchen still open? I've heard the steak and
kidney pie is quite good!"
The kitchen was open and in due course I was enjoying the famous steak
and kidney pie, which was everything I'd been hoping for! Perhaps I ate a
little too much, given that I was going to see my favourite waitress. I
mentioned to Andy that I was going to the Las Vegas club, and he and the
other customers agreed that I would have a good time.

At around quarter to ten, Andy called me a taxi, as three strong beers had
made me a little wobbly to walk to the club, which was around two miles
away. I arrived on time and, thanks to the ticket Sheila had given me, I
didn't have to pay the 25 entrance fee.

It was a little after ten in the evening, and I was sitting in the second row
next to the dance floor. According to the attendant, the first performance
was about to start in a few minutes. I asked her if she knew when Sheila
was going to dance. "Sheila and Jock", I told her. But she said she was
sorry but she couldn't tell me their timetable, for tonight there would be
more than twenty couples, and many different styles.

A few minutes later, a different attendant came to ask me "on behalf of

Sheila, are you quite comfortable in this place? She and Jock will be
dancing together with eleven other couples in the first round of the
competition and later she will try to come and see you." I told her that I
was indeed comfortable and thanked her for passing on the message.

It had been a long time since I'd set foot inside a dance club. This one
was a big long rectangle, with four tiers down and the same on the first
floor. All colourful and beautiful. Loud music, lights, banners, long,
coloured tinsel wreaths stretching all along the upper floor, with its crowds
of excited people, with funny coloured hats calling out their favourites.

And then out they came, couple by couple, the loud music stopping just
long enough for the presenter to introduce the competitors; their names
and the towns they represented. Each couple cheered by their crowd of
supporters. The fifth couple to come through the curtained gate was
Sheila and Jock, from Camden Town.
Once all twelve couples were on the dance floor, the music resumed and
in that moment, all together, they made their first beautiful movements.
As Sheila and Jock passed close by me, I tried to catch her eye but she
couldn't, she told me later, return my eye-contact as she had to remain
focussed on her partner. They had rehearsed the dance a thousand
times!

Thankfully they weren't eliminated in the first round, though eight other
couples were sent off the dance floor. Soon after, the next group of
couples came onto the floor and the same procedure was followed.
During that time, Sheila came to see me. She was dressed in a long,
woollen dressing gown, to avoid her muscles getting cold, she told me.
She guided me out to the hallway. We stopped on the corner and I
couldn't help looking her up and down. She could see what was going on
in my mind and coyly opened the dressing gown, revealing the flimsy
dance dress and underneath, her nearly naked, beautifully shaped body.

I gazed at her admiringly, saying nothing. She winked at me, wrapped the
woollen gown about her again, gave me a little kiss on the lips and went
running off to join her brother in the warm dressing room, leaving me
alone again, as if under a spell!

Each group let a few successful couples, among which was my favourite.
Jock and Sheila had got good marks from all the judges, so they'd have to
dance tomorrow and if that went well, they'd be in the final on Sunday!
We chatted for a bit after the performances were done, but they soon
excused themselves. It was past midnight, and in seven hours they had
to get up to open their coffee shop, 'Aberdeen' at the mall.

"I'll do my best to see you there tomorrow", I promised.

And so I did. I had lunch at the Aberdeen, with the special attention of
Sheila. I wouldn't be able to go to the Ballroom that evening as I had
bought tickets to see a popular theatre show in downtown London, that I
couldn't miss. She seemed a bit sad that I wouldn't be there, but
encouraged me to go to the Ballroom on Sunday afternoon, for the finals.
She was hopeful that they would be selected to represent Camden for the
great national championship in Blackpool. She would leave another ticket
at the hotel Primrose reception if they were selected, and then after 22:00
I could take her out for dinner to celebrate. She told me she'd love that,
with a promise in her eyes.

On Sunday morning I dressed in my running gear and went to the Heath

Park, quite near the hotel, where I did my two hours jogging, rejoicing in
the beauty and set up of the park. I headed back to the hotel, still in time
to have my full English breakfast at the buffet. Showered and shaved, I
took the tube from Hampstead station to Trafalgar Square, and from there
walked to Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street and Soho, which, despite it
being a Sunday, was lively with quite a lot shopping stalls. Afterwards I
walked back to Oxford Street and onwards to Marble Arch, and Hyde Park,
Speakers Corner. I had a full meal at an Italian restaurant, and with a full
stomach walked on to Leicester Square, where I went into one of the many
cinemas there. I watched an enjoyable film and it was good to rest my
tired feet after so much walking.

At 20:30 my mobile alarm sounded, telling me it was time to head back to

Hampstead to relax a bit before meeting up with the Scottish lass Sheila.
I was both surprised and happy to have met such a lovely woman and to
have her choose me to accompany her on Sunday evening. She didn't
work Mondays, so she was at total liberty to do whatever she wanted on a
Sunday night. She was young and beautiful enough that she could choose
anyone she wanted to spent her time with. And she had chosen me! It
was clear from her behaviour and demeanour that she was not a prude
and no doubt enjoyed a very healthy sex life. How the world had
changed! People were so much more open now to sex. The change was
most notable in women, or so it appeared to me. The attitudes of the past
were gone and women could choose whatever partner they wanted to
enjoy their time with, without recriminations from society.

However, the problem with me was that Monday at 8:30 sharp, I had to be
100% attentive at the SSIA office, bright eyed and bushy tailed!
As I was coming of the underground, and walking towards the hotel, Sheila
called me. She was happy to say they had come in second. Not first, but
good enough for them! She told me not to move for she would come and
pick me up in her VW Golf at the hotel entrance.

She got there quickly and off we went. I asked her to choose which
restaurant she liked best and told her it was my treat! We had a good
time, her face lit up by the loveliest pair of sparkling, blue eyes. She was
a good talker, and the food was good. Leaving the restaurant we would
have loved a short stroll, but the weather wouldn't allow it. We made a
quick dash for the car to try to protect ourselves from the rain. She
invited me to her apartment for a nightcap! Ah! That sounded promising!
I agreed, gladly, and though keen to spend the night with her, set my
alarm for 1:00.

The night was everything I had hoped for! It was a fantastic experience!
Thanks to my alarm, I dragged myself out of her bed, and took a taxi back
to the hotel. During the ride, tired but satisfied, I reflected on the strange
turns of life. What would be waiting for me tomorrow at 12 Willowby Rd,
at the SSIA office? I couldn't imagine what Simon had prepared for me. A
clerical job to start with? I was of course disappointed that neither Simon
nor Harry had bothered to acknowledging my arrival. To Hell with them!
If I had to go back to Spain, well, I'd do it. They couldn't treat me like a
piece of trash. I would see how things were in the morning.

My self-esteem was high as Sheila had complimented me on my vitality

and my body, which, she told me, was unexpectedly young and strong
and didn't seem to match my declared age of fifty-five. I told her that I
couldn't compare myself to anyone else and that it was all down to how
hot she was! And that really was the truth! And as for my strength, I told
her that I had been a sportsman nearly all my life and that I still enjoyed
swimming, paddle and jogging. I told her how I had spent the morning at
the Heath and that I would probably go there often if the company I was
going to work for would give me the spare time needed to do it. I planned
to go back there on Monday, after work. I could change quickly at the
hotel and be at the Heath in no time.

I wanted to be fair with her and so I told her that I had a friend in
Maidenhead. An old girlfriend from my previous stay in England, with
whom I had agreed to meet following week end. She seemed sad to hear
that but shrugged her shoulders and just said, "well, it's the story of my
life. Always the right guy at the wrong time." Anyhow, we exchanged
numbers and she said, "whenever you need me, I'll be happy to see you
again Michael".

Back at the hotel, before dropping off to sleep, I thought, "but what about
Helen?" She would call the next day to let me know her plans regarding
our weekend meeting. Probably Maidenhead or some other town between
Somerford and London. Unexpectedly my mind wondered back to my
previous life. I remembered how, upon arrival at Heathrow, while I was
waiting for my suitcase to appear on the baggage carrousel, I had phoned
my wife Isabel to say I was all right and that I would call her to tell her
how I was getting on with my job. She kept repeating, "but what are you
going to do there? You are a retired man!"

I had answered that I didn't know yet. That I had just arrived and anyway
I wouldn't know until at least Monday when I was to meet the person who
had engaged me at the clinic where... where... you know... She had
seemed calmer this time, as if she had got used to the idea, and not
argumentative like she had been when we'd said our goodbyes just that
morning, both of us depressed after the end of the Christmas festivities.
Everyone had gone back to their daily lives and she, alone. I had soothed
her as much as I could, and had promised her to call back in a few days
time.

It was Monday morning at 8:20 and I was walking down to 'my son's'
office. I watched everything around me and, as on the Friday evening, I
felt just like a tourist and was struck by the differences between this place
and Spain. I was also thinking of my first day with Simon. 12 Willowby
Road was a three-story house, a mix of red brick and white facade,
surrounded by a narrow walled garden. There was a big gate for cars and
a small one for pedestrians. I rung the bell, and the caretaker told me he
would be down in five minutes. Meanwhile some other people had joined
me by the door. Two men and two women, quite nicely dressed. We all
said "hello", and I could see their curious glances, obviously wondering
who the well-dressed foreign gentleman was.

The caretaker opened the door and showed us inside. He asked me for my
papers, which I got out from the inner pocket of my jacket. He must have
been expecting me, as he only gave the documents a brief scan before
greeting me kindly and leading me onwards to the front door. Two more
people had arrived, and I followed the group upstairs to the first floor. The
door was opened with a buzzing sound, presumably worked by the
caretaker. I waited until the others had gone through, wanting to be the
last, as I'd been told to wait in the entrance hall, just before the main
office. From my place in the foyer I could see a rather large rectangular
room, with windows on the left, a wide corridor on the other side, with
some doors, and at the end, about twenty metres away, a sumptuous
wooden staircase with a banister going up to the second floor. I could see
the heads of the people that had come in with me, busy at their work. I
later learnt that each one had a cubicle with a computer and printer on a
long office desk, along with a filing cabinet and an office chair. Each
cubicle was separated from the others by thick, translucent, white Perspex
screens. I was a bit bewildered, so I sat down to wait in the foyer. It was
well-furnished, with armchairs and low tables. On the oak-panelled walls
hung expensive-looking, impressionist paintings.

The caretaker had told me that Mr Stuart (Harry), would be arriving at

around 9:00. He would enter through the garage gate and come up to the
first floor by the lift. This would bring him out by the door alongside the
hallway, near the waiting room.

I was quite anxious, standing up, then sitting down and immediately
standing up again, pacing a little. I could see the shadows of the people
working but I couldn't hear anyone talking at all. What were they doing?
After a little while, I could hear phones ringing and voices that I couldn't
understand.

At the far end of the large room I could see above the screens. There was
a long glass wall on a higher level, next to the wooden stairs that went up
to the second floor. I continued watching, sitting, standing, pacing... and a
little after 9:00 I heard a door being closed. I stepped out into the
hallway to see Harry, who greeted me with a loud, theatrical, "Hello,
Michael! How are you feeling today? Had a nice weekend? You did sound
a little disappointed on Friday morning over the phone. What did you end
up doing to pass the weekend?"

"Well, nothing really... just making friends and drinking your good English
beer. I went for a stroll around Hampstead and find that I like it very
much. And I also went by tube to the centre of London, even to Hyde Park,
just to remember, for old time's sake, the places I most liked." I stopped
there, deciding to keep my meeting with Sheila to myself for now.

"Jolly good Michael! Come along with me now and I'll introduce you to
everyone before Mr Spencer gets here. Here, this is my office. Do you
like it? It has everything I need and from here I can take care of a lot of
things."

We had come up three or four steps to his private office. It was on an

upper level , separated by that long glass wall I had seen before, so that
he could look down from there and see all the cubicles with the people
inside now all looking up to us and smiling.

Harry smiled back at them. "They are nice people. They all do clerical
work, from accounting to typing reports in different languages. The six
you can see here are of six different nationalities. Some of them master
three languages, and receive and record all the communication that
comes through via phone, fax and email from the control centre on the
ground floor, managed by a staff of four highly-qualified people, also
under my direction. Jerry, who you met at the airport, is one of them, but
he also works as secretary for the Director, or CEO, Mr Spencer, whose
office is up there. No doubt you will see it soon when he calls for us. In
fact, I expect to hear from him any minute now. There is also a sizable
meeting room for up to fourteen people and three private offices for each
of our communications engineers. They report directly to Mr Spencer. We
also have a number of agents in other countries representing this office,
the SSIA, and their job is to perform whatever services are required of
them by our international clients and to keep us informed of all
geopolitical moves in which we may get involved.

Ah! And one more thing, Michael, before we go any further. This
conversation now, or any other you have whilst working here, is to be kept
in the strictest of confidence. You will have to sign a Confidentiality
Agreement, confirming that nothing you hear, read or see here can be
disclosed elsewhere. Give me your mobile so I can activate the proper
settings. OK. Done. It's necessary to minimise the security risk. I assume
you have already agreed to these conditions with Mr Spencer?"

I told him that the conditions were acceptable and that Mr Spencer had
explained the need for confidentiality before I had gone back to Spain for
Christmas last December.

"Excuse me for a minute, Michael. The caretaker, Lionel is buzzing me.

Hello Lionel, yes, yes. twenty minutes now. OK. Thank you Lionel.

Well Michael, it seems Mr Spencer has been delayed. Apparently he's

stuck in traffic coming down from Bedford, where he lives and his ETA now
is for about ten. So... it seems we now have some time on our hands.
Follow me and I'll introduce you to your new colleagues. For today, we'll
just stick to getting to know the people on this floor, OK? You'll have
plenty of time to get to know the other parts of the office over the coming
weeks."

We went through the office, stopping at each cubicle and Harry introduced
me to everyone. Their names were printed on a card on the outside of
the Perspex screens. I could see then that each one had, at least, two fair-
size PC monitors and a side filing cabinet. The backs of the cubicles had
large shelves full of papers and various office stuff. Some cubicles were
empty, though exactly the same as the occupied ones, but without the
papers. They all seemed very friendly. Most had foreign accents. All
were white, apart from one black man whose accent sounded South-
African.

Finally, Harry led me to an empty cubicle and told me that from that day
on, for the next five months, it would be my workspace. It was like all the
others, but did have one advantage, that whilst sitting down, I could see
the entrance hall on my right and on my left the large window that was
fully covered, except for a narrow slit, through which I could see a little of
the narrow garden, and the sky.

Harry sat down on a stool next to me and we chatted a while. He asked

me when the last time I had been in England was, not including the time I
had spent at the clinic, and I told him. He seemed surprised that my
English was so good, so I told him a bit of my history, focussing mainly on
the five years I had spent working in London, though I didn't mention the
name of the company, Coopervilla. After a while he pulled a small device
out of his pocket. A pager? And said, "Mr Spencer is coming directly up
to his office by the lift. He'll let me know when he's ready to see us. We
went back through the hallway and up to Harry's office to wait for the
green light!

About five minutes later he got the signal and I followed him up the
wooden stairs to the second floor. There everything was more elegant
than on the lower level. Fully-carpeted, with portraits on the walls. A wide
stretch of corridor left and right. We went left to a door, facing what
seemed to be the lift, with its door ajar.

Harry knocked smartly and called out "Mr Spencer", and then, without
waiting for an answer, he opened the door and we went inside. Simon got
up from his armchair, nodded to Harry, and greeted me warmly. "Hello,
Michael. Welcome back! How are you?"

We went through the usual niceties. He asked Harry if he had given me a

rundown of the office set up, and introduced me to the officers down
there. 'Officers?' Harry said that he had and Simon thanked him and
asked him, politely, to leave us alone.

He was wearing a dark green tweed sports jacket, with a light green
neckerchief and brownish trousers. "Excuse my outfit, but I've just come
from the family country house."

"Bedford?" I asked.

"No, no, My country house is in Berkshire, some eighty miles from here. I
knew you had arrived safe and sound on Friday and got to the hotel
without any problems. I should have called you but, you know, I was
constantly surrounded by family, children, some nice and some not so
nice in-laws, from my boy Andrew, and also my daughter Eli (Elisabeth)
with her fianc, an attorney, who works in Maidenhead, though he's
actually from Liverpool. I'm sorry if you were a little lonely. I supposed
you would be alright as you were used to being alone in Somerford. And I
hear the Primrose is quite comfortable."

"Well, it's true. I was a little disappointed, as you'd told me when I left
that you would meet me on my return. But I didn't let it get me down for
too long. On Saturday I went for a walk around Hampstead, and on
Sunday I did a bit of sightseeing around London, for old time's sake.

By the way, Simon, I have to remind you that it's still up to you and I to
decide whether I'll stay or go back to Spain. Harry said that I would be
here for the next five months. And, well, supposing that I stay, I'll have to
find alternative lodgings. The hotel is lovely, but it's far too expensive for
me to stay long-term. I've talked about it with Harry. He says that I
should go to a real estate agency, where they'll find me somewhere
appropriate for me to live within my means. The hotel have told me that
from tomorrow onwards they will charge me 175 a day, bed and
breakfast. I have sufficient funds with me to pay for quite some time,
but... what do you think?"

As I was talking, Simon was unsmiling, nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, Michael. Sorry you were disappointed, but that is how things
are. Now let us first talk a bit about your starting salary here. I have the
pay-scale here. We've gone through this same process with others before
you, as you can imagine. The starting amount is 1,250."

"Sorry? Only 1,250?" I couldn't hide my disappointment! I had been

under the impression that he was more generous than that! Evidently I
had been mistaken!

"It's not that bad is it?" He seemed genuinely surprised by my

disappointment, but after a moment he realised something and put my
mind at rest. "Ah, but you were thinking monthly, weren't you? No, no,
no... that's the weekly amount! The monthly total is 5,000!

And then, later, after one or two months of training to get you in good
enough shape to be useful, we will see if we can raise you wages to a
better level. However, first of all, we'll give you enough know-how to get
going, and will periodically test your powers of memory accordingly. You
will see. Also, it is very, very important. Your ability, efficiency and
confidentiality. You understand?"

"Yes, Harry explained something about that... about signing a

Confidentiality Agreement. Is that it?" He looked at me rather strangely,
but answered without hesitation.

"Yes, that's it exactly. All our agents had to agree to that. Now, on to a
different subject. You must understand that as far the company's
concerned, there's no family connection between you and I. Let them
wonder 'how' and 'why' you got this job, but I won't be giving you any
favourable treatment, and you must always address me, when in public,
as Mr Spencer. Is that all clear?"
"Yes, I can very well understand that. But what I don't understand is the
need for secrecy here. Are you doing here something illegal?"

"Michael!" Rising angrily from his chair, "That's quite enough! I cannot
and will not answer that ridiculous question! I don't have to tell you a
goddamn thing about what we're doing here, you jumped-up Spanish
twat! Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! For the time being you
will just have to accept what I tell you and don't ask fucking stupid, not to
mention insulting, questions! Strict confidentiality is needed for the
welfare of this business. That's it, and that's all. If you can't accept that
then you can fuck off and start thinking about the consequences of that.
What's more, if you do that, I can start by calling the police right now to
have you thrown out of this country! I believe there are several grounds I
could give them to deport you instantly!"

My God! This was a serious threat. It took all my strength not to get up
and march straight out of there! But I was afraid of the consequences, as
he had said. I had to give myself time to think things over without acting
rashly in the heat of the moment. It shocked me how his behaviour and
demeanour had changed so drastically in an instant! His face distorted
with rage as if his brain was not well balanced. I bowed my head and
remained silent, pretending to be humiliated, looking at the floor. It was
clear to me that I would have to play it cool with this dangerous guy. This
'son' of mine. I would have to be patient in order to put things back in
their place and repay him for this disgusting treatment. For now, he was
the big cat and I the little mouse. Maybe time would change that. All my
expectations for the near future had been shattered. I couldn't repay him
the money I had borrowed... Not yet. I remained with my head down,
waiting. After a while he spoke again.

"I think I have given you enough time to apologize, so, given that you
haven't, you'd better get the hell out of here!" As I stood up to leave, he
fired a parting shot, "Fuck off and think about what I told you."
I went down, past Harry's office to my cubicle, where I remained for a
while, thinking hard. What could I do? I couldn't just leave and go back to
Spain. The money was one thing, but the biggest problem of all was the
pills. Who was going to supply me with them when they ran out in
December 2015? It was after noon when I went to the street, past the
caretaker, and walked up towards the park. Later I went into 'The
Farmer's Gate' where I had a bitter and a sandwich. With the help of the
strong Guinness I pretty much made up my mind to give up the job, risks
be damned! What a change since before Christmas when I had left to go
back to Spain. He had all but pleaded for me to come back as soon as
possible.

I returned to the office at half past one to find a message waiting for me. I
was to go and see Mr Spencer at three o'clock. I would hand him my
resignation and accept the consequences, whatever they may be.
However, when three o'clock came and I entered his office, he seemed a
different man again! His tone now was apologetic.

"Now, now, Michael, don't get all bent out of shape. I assure you that, at
least for now, things must be that way. I'm sorry I was a little too harsh."
A little?! "I never worked with a 'father' before and, besides that, a
foreigner. At least to our way of thinking. You Spaniards question too
much, talk too much, and end up doing nothing for the common good.
Now... please. Are you OK? Can we get on with talking about your future
with the company?"

And there, in that moment, I changed my mind. Maybe he was crazy! Or

perhaps he was playing with me. It seemed those were the only
possibilities. I doubted I would get any further explanation and, despite
my dented pride, I didn't want to rush into anything I might later regret. I
felt I had no choice but to wait and see how things played out. I would
play the part he expected of me! How on earth had I got myself into this
dreadful situation, in which I was now quite trapped?! I responded,
mirroring his apologetic tone.
"OK Simon, I'm sorry too. I should've known better than to ask that stupid
question. I realize it was unwise of me and I beg your pardon."

As I said those words I was still feeling quite the opposite. Why the hell
should I have to ask forgiveness for a perfectly reasonable question?!
Were they doing something illegal? If so, and I was going to be part of it, I
bloody well had a right to know! Despite boiling with frustration
underneath, I kept my cool on the surface. I would have to bide my time.
Perhaps I could use this incident to my advantage in the future. He had
shown me that he was not a well-balanced man and knowledge, after all,
is power!

He seemed to accept my humility and sent me back downstairs to see

Harry.

"Give him this piece of paper, that he will hand over to Faye, the
accountant, in order to transfer the money in due course to your Barclays
account. You'll have to give her the account number along with your
personal information, passport number, etc... I really must get on now and
catch up with things that have piled up over the weekend."

So... that was that. The calm after the storm! We bade each other
goodbye in a friendly manner, wished each other a pleasant day and
parted company. I went down to see Harry, who must have guessed I'd
had a rough time upstairs, as he tried to sooth me by making excuses for
Mr Spencer's temper. He was tired and perhaps it was my fault for my
lack of understanding of the way things worked here in the office, being a
foreigner and all.

He opened his steel safe filing cabinet and took out an envelope which, he
showed me, contained a flash drive, as well as an index card. He
explained that I should examine the files in detail, taking notes and he
handed me a pad and pencil.

"Well, you know how to start up your PC? No? OK... I'll accompany you to
your station. But before we head over there, let me tell you that each
computer has its own specific code number. Yours... here it is... is
MVZ********** You will have to memorize it, as you can only start the
computer after you enter this code. Ok?"

"Fine, Harry, let's get on with it." Internally I was fuming and I mumbled,
"please, let me get on with something before I regret..."

Harry didn't seem to notice my irritation. Or, if he did, he did an excellent

job of ignoring it! "Also Michael, you have in your cubicle a safe filing
cabinet. Here's the key. Keep it with you at all times and keep the flash
drive and your notes in the safe, OK?"

"Yes, OK Harry, you're very kind. While we head over there, let me tell
you that, as I have said to Mr Spencer, tomorrow I have to start paying
board at the Primrose Hotel, or find alternative lodgings. They've quoted
175 B&B per night, or 150 without breakfast. Therefore, I think it'd be a
good idea for me to visit and Estate Agent in order to find a convenient
little flat in the area, if possible."

"Yes, I understand. I'll give you the info for the agency up the road, not
too far from the Primrose. Oh, by the way, Michael, just to remind you.
Switch off your cell phone while you're in here. From outside you can
make calls within Britain, but not abroad. OK?" I nodded my agreement
and Harry continued. "OK, OK, you may think we're overdoing it, but
orders are orders, so we all have to comply with them. You can take a
break for lunch after 12:00 for one hour, so maybe then you can call
anyone you like, outside the premises, or perhaps you could go and see
the real estate agency Barnes & Blake."

So there I found myself, exercising all my self-control to deal with the

humbling treatment I had received the day before, at the hands of my
son, previously friendly, the CEO of the company I had been called to work
for, with his secretary Harry who had driven me to the clinic in Somerford,
now my immediate boss in the office. There was a whole new set of
limitations and rules to comply with! And this is how I began my new job
at my new age in Hampstead London.
It was Monday 7th January 2015. I used all my will to try to get past my
irritation at how I had been treated and made some progress with the files
I had to read. I wrote down some curious events which had occurred in
South America, about which the SSIA had been required to provide some
specific information to one of the parties. It mostly concerned dealings
with drugs, corrupt politicians and police, and I supposed that something
similar was probably happening in Spain. Could I be asked to deal with
that kind of thing in Spain in the future? And if so, would it be dangerous?!

Later that same day, after 17:30, an employee of Barnes and Blake picked
me up to show me some flats. Harry had told them that I was looking for
a medium to small apartment, suitable for one person, with a bedroom,
living room, bathroom, and small kitchen. With this in mind they showed
me a new apartment building with small well-priced suites.

It looked rather grand and I was wondering how I would afford it. The
agent asked me, "How long are you going to be here for Sir?"

"Well I don't know exactly, but if things go well with my job, approximately
ten to twelve months", I told him. After seeing a few, and liking some, I
went with him to the agency and was astounded when he told me the
rates. The cheapest one there was 2,500 per month! And with bills on
top, it would be around 3,500! There was no way I could afford that and
have sufficient money to save to pay back the loan. I had calculated that I
would need to save a minimum of 2,000 per month and even then it
would take me six years! What a trap I had fallen into! I would simply
have to find cheaper lodgings. It was clear to me that asking Simon to
release me from the engagement would be an exercise in futility! I
already knew his answer and it would not be a pleasant conversation.
"Pay me back and you're free to leave", is what he would tell me. But that
was only part of it, for I had a feeling they would make me pay for the
twelve month supply of pills I had been given and, according to Dr
Hilmarton, I needed them if I was to continue to live in good health.
I had started to feel suspicious about the validity of the paternity test.
Was I really Simon's father? Or had I perhaps been set up for some
unknown reason. The DNA certificate could be a fake. After all, I had
pretty much just scanned it at Heathrow. Had I been taken in? But why
would he want me there if it weren't true? The must be some reason he
wanted me close... but what? Obviously, I couldn't just ask him to give
me a copy. Not now, after all that had passed. It occurred to me that I
would have to get a sample of his hair and take it to get my own DNA
analysis. If the result came back positive and proved that he really was
my son, it would be less likely that he would consider taking legal action
against me, as his father. But, then again, perhaps he was just ruthless
enough to do it anyway. And if the result came back negative... Well, that
would be even worse! It was all starting to feel like some twisted film plot,
except that it wasn't. It was my life! I wondered again, for the umpteenth
time, just what exactly I had got myself into!

I felt truly afraid. How could I've been so naive? In fact, I had to admit
that I had always been a naive adventurer, but I had always been rather
lucky. It seemed my luck had run out! With these dark thoughts in mind, I
told the agent that I would need a little more time to decide.

For the time being I had enough money to pay for the hotel with breakfast
included. I ate as much at breakfast as I could and took a small plastic
bag to the buffet which I surreptitiously filled with sandwiches, ham,
sausages, rolls, and anything else which took my fancy. I would slip this
into my jacket and take it up to my room where I would stash it in my
suitcase to keep it safe from the pilfering hands of the maid, just in case.
In this way, I survived.

I had to force myself to play it cool. To just do the work that Harry gave
me. To do it as well as I could, learn as much as possible from the files
available, be friendly and smile nicely to everyone, especially to Simon, if
and when I saw him, and try to rise up in their estimation. In that way,
four months passed, until April 2015. A while before that, the Estate
Agent had made me an unexpected off of 1,000 per month, with about
200 for electricity on top. That left me enough money to start saving.
My bank account was starting to look much healthier with over 30,000.
It was a safe figure to see me through if I had to get away quickly!

Aside from work stuff, I also had the unresolved issue of Helen to deal
with. We had been seeing each other nearly every weekend at Walton
Hotel in Maidenhead, where we had continued to fall even further for each
other. We only ever missed a meeting if she had to work overtime, or visit
her ailing mother. On those weekends I would usually head into central
London to see a film, but always returned in time to go to the Aberdeen
for a pint and to go out with Sheila after closing time. We would head out
of Hampstead to have dinner. I knew that I was cheating on Helen, but I
couldn't help it. Sheila had thoroughly seduced me! I liked them both a
great deal and was not sure how I would choose, but I knew that I would
have to, and soon.

I found that as the time passed, I began to feel more distant from Helen
and I supposed that to be down to the turmoil I was feeling about Simon
and the office work. Helen, of course, would always be linked in my mind
to Simon and the clinic. When we met, our sex-life was voracious, my
pent-up frustration being relieved with sex and my stamina did not
disappoint! Afterwards we would go for a walk, hand in hand. I couldn't
help my continued surprise, every time we saw our reflection in some
shop window, to have such a beautiful young woman by my side. She
looked much younger than me, despite my rejuvenation. My face showed
a man of fifty-five years old, while she hadn't yet reached forty. Even with
her flat shoes she was taller than me. To my eyes we made an odd
couple, although it was perfectly normal to see older men with younger
partners. Helen kept saying that I had an inferiority complex, and that she
was perfectly happy with me as I was. Our relationship continued happy
for the first two months. I didn't wish to discuss my problems with Simon
with her, but in the end some of the bitterness I'd been feeling came out
and I told her some of what had transpired between us. My doubts that I
wouldn't be able to cope with the work he expected of me, and so on.
However I didn't tell her of my suspicions that the company (Simon) was
blackmailing me with respect to the necessity of the pills, or anything
concerning my doubts about the father - son relationship that tied us
together or the money I owed the Foundation.

I couldn't trust her fully with this matter knowing that Simon and she were
old, trusted friends, as she had confirmed many times. I started to think
that maybe Simon would ask her what went on between us; what we did,
what I said about him and the office. In my concerned mind anything was
possible. It even occurred to me that she could be a spy, planted by
Simon. She had said herself that in time she hoped to enter the
rejuvenation programme, but that she would need a great deal more
money than what she would be able to save in twenty years with her
salary of 4,500 a month. Where did she intend to get that money? She
said that I had been lucky to have entered the project and to come out
unharmed and well-balanced.

Despite my misgivings, I still loved her. She was the person who had
opened the gate to my renewed virility, and accepted my reconstructed
body. I would jokingly draw comparisons between myself and Dorian
Grey. I couldn't share my worries with her for, assuming I was simply
being paranoid, she would never forgive me for doubting her so much.
But, could I tell her of my fears concerning Simon? How would she react if
I confessed everything to her? Perhaps she could help me procure some
of his hair. As I saw it, it could go one of two ways. Either she would think
that me being Simon's father was just too far-fetched, or, she already
knew it. In the second scenario, Simon would no doubt be aware that she
knew and would most likely have asked her to keep me occupied, for his
own Machiavellian reasons.

Really, both situations seemed somewhat absurd. Besides seeking proof

of my paternity, there was also the matter of the pills. Were they really
necessary, or part of the plot to keep me chained to the company?! I
would have to get them tested by a laboratory, and that was no easy
matter either. I thought, assuming she was willing, I could give her one of
each colour and she, as a doctor, could take them to be chemically
analyzed. But, could she? I was almost certain that it was a secret
pharmaceutical patent, and therefore a very well guarded secret. There
could be consequences for sharing it with other labs! Good God! Had I
fallen into a snake pit, or was I having nightmares?

Sometimes I would regret my hasty decision to go ahead with the

treatment, though due to my physical improvement, this was not all that
often. Helen always said that I'd been extremely lucky with the physical
results! I admitted that to be true, but then, why had I been so lucky?
Weren't all the patient results equally impressive? And she also often
stressed the that I should be grateful to Simon for my rejuvenation and his
apparent generosity towards me, evidenced by the invoices for my
treatment which she had seen signed by him. Invoices issued by the clinic
and that were being paid by the Foundation. "Aren't you grateful to the
Foundation, and above all, to Simon, for the grant?" she asked me
excitedly whenever the issue of my problems arose.

Bloody hell! I couldn't tell her! I couldn't tell her! She didn't need to
know the facts. And I didn't want her to! I was ashamed that I had
borrowed money for my family in exchange for coming to work for the
company. And if I told her everything? That Simon was my son; the way
everything had been done; how and where. What would she think of me?!
There would be serious consequences for everyone. Myself included!

I had called my wife several times during those first four months from a
pay phone close to the office. They were mostly still working in England,
at least in Hampstead. We chatted about unimportant things and I made
no mention of my concerns about my future with the company, for I knew
she would insist on me going back home. I couldn't very well tell her the
truth, that it would be quite impossible for me to escape for the time
being. I told her I was well and in good health, and that I was earning, for
the moment at least, just enough to pay for my accommodation and food,
and save a little money besides. I also told her that she had been right
about some things, though not everything, and that I still didn't have a
clear vision of my future position in the company.

Finally I decided to call Aitana in Madrid. She was the only one who knew
the truth, and she had sworn to keep it secret. She had a friend who was
a doctor, and perhaps the necessary tests could be arranged through her.
First of all, I had to make her promise not to share my fears with anyone,
especially not with her mother. When we spoke I used the payphone and
was sure to pay in cash so the call could not be associated with me. I had
learnt that all mobile communications could be traced by the SSIA from
the Control Centre in the basement. I had also sent her a private letter,
laying out all my concerns and reassuring her that I had already spoken to
her mother to reassure her that I was well. By this point, I had even
started to suspect that my calls from the booth could be traced, as I was
learning about the extent of what the SSIA could do and the sophisticated
surveillance instruments at their disposal from the reports I was reading at
the office. I only ever used my phone to call Helen or Sheila and never
discussed personal matters over the phone.

Speaking with Aitana helped to relieve some of my stress. She was angry
with me for altering my body in such a way, but seemed to understand
that I had been taken in, and understood my plight. It was good to have
someone to talk about my fears to. I told her of Simon's dramatic change
in character, from the kind philanthropic gentleman to the bossy chief that
brutally had told me off for wanting to know more than I was entitled to.
And the pills! The pills supplied by the clinic, owned by the Foundation,
without which my health was supposedly in danger. I shared with her my
suspicion that these pills were nothing more than a placebo, and that if
that was proven I would be eventually be able to escape the trap I had
fallen into.

Once, by chance, I as I was popping into the pub where I sometimes had
my lunch, I bumped into Simon on his way out the door. He was with
three casually-dressed, young men. He was talking at that moment and
scarcely acknowledged my presence, merely giving me a slight smile as
he passed into the street. This behaviour did not surprise me. After all, I
was only an employee. In the beginning it would've hurt my feelings, his
ignoring our father-son relationship in this way, but I had got used to it by
now.

It was the end of April. The worst had passed and I was getting used to
the work. Harry seemed to be quite pleased with the report summaries I
had done and by all accounts, was happy with my work.

The office was on the second floor. The first time that I'd gone up there
was with Harry, on January 7th, when he had told me that in addition to
Simon's fairly large office, with its own bathroom, there was a meeting
room with fourteen chairs. If my rough calculations were correct, there
was still room up there for several more people. In fact, as I later learnt,
there were also several empty rooms up there; three independent offices
for the three highly-valued communication engineers. Were they the
hackers that reported only to Mr Spencer? They would enter through the
garage and go up by the lift to the second floor to meet with Simon, with
whom they were in close contact. I later found out that they were
partners of SSIA.

Most importantly of all was the fact that I had been able to obtain some of
Simon's hair from the brush in the gents toilet, down on the first floor,
after he had used it in one of his rare visits downstairs to speak with Harry.
It had happened quite by chance! I had happened to glance up from my
work and see Simon heading down to Harry's office. I had kept my eye on
them surreptitiously and had seen Simon pop to the loo before heading
back upstairs. I immediately went into the toilet on the off chance that
Simon had used the brush. I noticed that some of the hairs were darker
than Harry's, who was nearly blond, and I stashed them between some
rolled up toilet paper. Of course, it was possible that the hair did not
belong to Simon, but I was fairly confident that it did. One toilet in the
corridor was unisex and was supposed to be used by all the employees in
the first floor office, whereas the other had a sign on the door which said
'private' and was intended only for use by Harry. If he had caught me I
would have apologised and said that the other was in use and that I
couldn't wait!

Having got the hair sample, I then wrote to Aitana again and included four
small envelopes with the letter. One with a crushed white pill, another
with a crushed blue pill, one with Simon's hair and the last with a sample
of my own hair for DNA comparison. Her doctor friend would be able to
find a free lab and analyse the pills to discover their chemical
composition. In this way I hoped to discover if they were anything more
than placebos. I also enclosed quite a long letter with my concerns
regarding whether the covert ways of the SSIA were really a smoke-screen
for something dangerous and illegal. I stressed once again the need for
absolute secrecy, unless something should happen to me, which she
would know if I didn't get in touch with her within a fortnight. I also told
her that perhaps all my worries were for nothing. The result of paranoia
caused by my anger towards Simon after his aggressive treatment of me.
After all, all I had done was to enquire, quite justifiably as far as I was
concerned, whether they were doing something illegal. Why the need for
all the secrecy if everything was above board? He had told me, angrily,
"shut up and leave if you want to. But, remember you have to pay back
all the money, and you would have buy your supply of the medicines."
Could it all be a bluff? It certainly didn't seem so at the time. But perhaps
my state of mind was making me hypersensitive.

All this paranoia and mistrust was spoiling my relationship with Helen. As
I refused to tell her more about the issue than that I was disappointed
because I had expected a better working relationship with Simon, she
didn't understand why I felt so hard-done-by. In the end our
disagreements about his fairness brought us to breaking point. She felt
that Simon was a good person and that I should be more appreciative for
what he had done for me. Of course, she had no reason to think
differently. As far as she knew, my treatment at the clinic had been paid
for by the Foundation. She knew nothing of my true connection with the
Foundation. Or did she?
With this growing tension between us, our sex-life had begun to dwindle.
The beautiful sexologist who had awakened my long-dormant passion,
was now finding that I just couldn't perform as I had in the beginning.
"Don't worry." she told me. "This is just because you are unduly stressed."
She was right of course, but there was also the fact that, unbeknownst to
her, I was meeting with Sheila. I had to untangle this knot which I had
tied myself into. I still don't know why, but I had never told Helen about
my friends in Hampstead, least of all Sheila. If I had mentioned her, I
imagine Helen would have put two and two together and realised there
was something going on between myself and the Scottish barmaid and
amateur dancer. After all, Helen was an excellent psychologist and
sexologist. The fact that our sex-life had been lagging would no doubt
have given her the final piece of evidence.

Her strong defence of Simon irritated me considerably. It bothered me

more than I cared to admit that she seemed to have so much admiration
for him. Was it jealousy? I reacted with bitterness and mocked her
dedication to him. It hadn't been my intention to behave in that way, but
the result was that we both agreed it would be better if we didn't see each
other for a while. If we needed to talk or found that we missed the
relationship, we could always call each other. She was the first to call,
apologizing for not having been more open to my worries. After that we
stayed in touch via phone, but still felt that time apart was best for both of
us. I told her I had renewed my jogging, now that the weather was
warmer and I was feeling quite strong. It struck me as odd, therefore, that
she kept asking me if I was alright.

I started to wonder why she should be worried about my health, when I

had told her I was in great shape. Did she know something I didn't?
Perhaps it had happened in these cases that the patient had taken a
downward turn after the treatment was completed? Had other procedures
been unsuccessful? I also noted that she had started to call me Michael
rather than Mike, as she had when we had first known each other as
doctor and patient.
I was free now to continue my relationship with Sheila without feeling the
guilt of deceiving Helen. It was, I suppose, what I had wanted all along.
Though I had had deep feelings for Helen, her connection to Simon and
her knowledge of what I had been through put too great a strain on our
relationship. A wall had come up between us and my inability to tell her
the truth about my worries meant that the wall would remain. I felt free
with Sheila. She knew nothing of the rejuvenation and merely accepted
me for who I was, making it clear that she found me attractive and
enjoyed my company. There was no baggage or bitterness between us!

Besides my worries about Simon and the SSIA, everything was going
pretty well. My apartment, though small, was adequate for my needs.
The price included a daily cleaning service and the linen and towels were
changed once a week. I had rented a 24" TV and a fairly comfortable
armchair to read and watch TV in and I had been able to convince the
caretaker to bring me up some of the spare furniture which was kept in
storage downstairs in the basement, next to the washing machines. I had
given him a generous tip and so we were both happy with the
arrangement. After my separation from Helen, I had resumed jogging in
Heath Park. I also went to the Aberdeen nearly every evening, to chat
with Sheila and Jock, and a few other friends that I had made there.

For the sake of caution I opened a Post Office Box in Richmond, for I didn't
dare have Aitana write to the apartment, nor to the office. I checked the
Box ten days later and every day after that, but nothing came. On the
Friday I called her and she told me she had only just received my letter.
She was anxious and afraid for me, and understood the precariousness of
my situation. Her doctor friend had managed to find a laboratory willing
to do the analysis, but it would take time and quite a lot of money.
Meanwhile, she agreed with me that it was better to keep quiet and get on
with my work without rocking the boat. She assured me that she wouldn't
share any of this with anyone, least of all with her mother.

Later that week, Harry buzzed me on the intercom to go up to his office,

and requested that I bring the two flash-drives I had been using lately. I
headed up there directly and he invited me in and told me to sit down. He
was in a good mood. Smiling, he asked me if I was all right. I told him
that I was and put the two envelopes I had brought on the table, each
containing a flash-drive and the corresponding notes. In exchange he
gave me another envelope containing another flash drive, and told me I
was going to enjoy this one better than the others. He gave me a
knowing look and told me in an unusually smooth tone, to dedicate all my
mental faculties to learning from the files as they would be important for
my future with the company.

I was more than surprised, for this was an unexpected development. It

seemed they were finally trusting me with something important! I knew
that it was Simon speaking through Harry and it showed that his
confidence in me had increased. A little bewildered I went back to my
cubicle, started up my computer, plugged in the flash-drive, and looked
curiously at the screen to see with what I had been entrusted. The names
and places that popped up were well-known to me! It was all about Spain;
its politicians; wealthy businessmen; company directors. I immediately
started taking notes. I would have to memorise as much of this
information as I could.

The reports had been written by a JMS********, the SSIA agent based in
Madrid, whose English, though good, showed that he was not a native-
speaker. They dealt largely with big oil and electricity companies, but also
with big civil engineering companies and building societies, and the
relationship between them and the right wing party. I took a quick thirty-
minute break and then got back to work. Each one of these companies
had the protection of a big law firm. Their respective negotiators were
nearly always accompanied by one or two lawyers, at hand to resolve any
conflict of interests that should arise. I had a pad-full of notes, on various
subjects and was quite engrossed in the content of the reports, when
Harry tapped me on the shoulder. "We knew this would interest you,
Michael. But leave it for today. It's half-past six, and everybody's gone
home, except for you and me."
I looked up in surprise. "Oh, yes, Harry. Sorry for delaying you! Do you
want to have a quick look at my notes now, before we head off?"

"What, all that? No, no. Not now. Let's leave it until tomorrow."

He waited while I changed into my tracksuit and put on my backpack and

we went out together, taking the stairs to the ground floor, where we
separated. Harry signalled the caretaker and went down to the
executives' garage. I headed off on foot and made my way to Heath Park
to run my usual circuit.

The next day at 8:30 sharp, I was at the door. I was in and sitting down
before the others arrived. I hadn't spoken much with my colleagues,
though they seemed friendly enough and would probably have welcomed
me had I approached them during the lunch break. I preferred to keep to
myself, nodding in greeting when we met on the street or by the gate. I
think it was the hush-hush atmosphere of the place that discouraged any
contact between us. I logged onto my computer, plugged in the flash-
drive, and began to take notes on some of the cases which had been
highlighted by the Madrid agent.

The information concerned Spanish politicians; Their ranking in the

pyramid of power and their prospects, according to opinion polls, of
keeping their number of seats in Congress. The file I was browsing was
from back in 2012, and I wrote down some summaries about the people
involved, learning by heart the who's who in each party or company. I
kept at these new files for several days. I had also seen an agreement
with the Spanish Intelligent Agency, or CNI, with the SSIA to provide them
with certain classified information regarding the opposition party in the
government at that time.

I had suspected as much. That that was the nature of the activities
carried out by the SSIA. That was why it was so secret. Bloody Hell! Why
had they, or rather Simon, engaged me to work in this area? Political
cunning, intrigue! He knew very well of my naive behaviour.
About ten days after that, I heard from Harry again. "I bet you're reading
the Spanish files with more interest now, aren't you?" he asked me.

"Yes, indeed! They're quite absorbing. There're a number of rather

interesting stories there. I have my notes here if you wish to have a look;
a rundown of the top-level political guys in Spain each scheming in his
own way to make the highest profit for his party."

"Well, Michael, I must say, you are getting on very well with the job! I
believe that soon it'll be time for you to take a more active part in this
agency. I'll pass your notes on to Mr Spencer to look at in detail."

With that, I went back to my cubicle and resumed report reading. With a
sudden thought, I ran along the reports' dates, then did a fast forward
command on my keyboard, and found that the last report in this file was
dated 28th August 2014, and had been signed by JMS**********, the agent
in Madrid. I wondered then if this last report had anything to do with
Simon's first contact with me, when he had hacked into my home
computer less than a month later. With this in mind, I resolved to call
Aitana to see if she had made any progress with the analysis of the pills
and the hair.

I called her, as always, from the payphone. She picked up quickly,

sounding quite agitated. She told me she had posted a letter to the
Richmond P.O. Box, enclosing the lab results for the DNA, that proved
without any doubt a 99.9% match with Simon. So, after all my doubts, he
was my son. I didn't know whether to be glad or to be sorry that I was
indeed his biological father. There was no love lost between us. Just a
twist of fate. As I processed this information, Aitana added that the
analysis of the pills would take a little longer, as the lab was currently
overworked. Also, she told me, the price was extremely steep, and she
would need me to send her 3,000. The funds I had given her at
Christmas were all used up and she didn't want to ask her mother as it
would lead to difficult questions. I agreed at once. The extra cash was
obviously to deal with some money-grubbing bastard at the lab who had
realised there was something funny going on and that he could squeeze
more money out of her. I took her bank details and as soon as we got off
the phone, I headed to Barclays to arrange the transfer. I sent her 5,000,
hoping that more money would serve to speed up the process. It was in
my interest to resolve the matter as soon as possible for, if the pills turned
out to be a placebo, I would be in a much stronger bargaining position. I
would simply have to decide whether to declare my defection to Simon,
telling him to "go to Hell!", or to leave without saying a word. The money
I owed wasn't a large enough sum to make it worth going after me. I just
had to decide!

A few days later, Simon called me himself to go up and see him. "Harry
knows you're coming so no need to check in with him. Just head straight
up."

I disconnected the flash-drive, popped it into its envelope, put it inside the
filing cabinet safe, and went up to the second floor. My head was spinning
with thoughts of what he might be about to say to me.

As I entered his spacious office, he stood up civilly. "Hello, Michael, how

are you?" Was he greeting me as Simon, or as Mr Spencer? Despite the
butterflies in my stomach, I smiled back at him.

"Very well thank you, and yourself?"

"I'm Ok, thanks. Please sit down. I hear you've rented an apartment in
the district."

"Well, yes. It's convenient and close enough that I can come and go on
foot, walking or jogging, if the weather allows. The only problem is that I
don't save much at the moment, what with the rent and the general cost
of living."

"Yes, I understand. But you didn't hand all the money that you borrowed
over to your family, did you?"
"Well, no, not all of it. Actually I only cashed 150,000 . I assumed that
Mr Graham would've told you about it, and as you didn't say anything, I
thought the matter was settled. My wife didn't want to take any initially,
but finally kept 25,000. The rest I split between my two girls. Aside from
that, I just managed with the wages I receive here. I assume that's
alright?"

"The accounts show your debt for 200,000. That's to say, regardless of
the amount you withdrew in Madrid, you still have 100,000, equal to
about eighty thousand pounds, available to you in the Madrid branch,
under the care of Mr Graham."

His unwillingness to budge on the matter of the money got my back up.
What difference did it make, for God's sake?! I swallowed my irritation
and answered calmly, "but, Simon, something can be done, can't it?!
Couldn't I start paying back my debt with the Foundation with this
80,000?"

"But, you don't understand, Michael. You cannot move these funds to and
fro openly because it's, what they call 'black money'. You have to save!
Put it into a safe deposit box at the bank and when it reaches the proper
amount, then, and only then, you can settle your debt. Is that clear now?"

It wasn't at all clear, but I nodded my agreement anyway. I thought it best

not to ruffle his feathers at this point.

He seemed pleased by my cooperation and continued, "Now, coming to

another subject. I know you were quite annoyed by my rough manner the
other day resulting from your enquiry into our need for secrecy here.
Perhaps you can now judge better why I was so annoyed. That it was part
of the drill. And that the rules here are to be kept. I understand you are
currently dealing with the files concerning Spanish political matters?"

"Yes, that's right. It all makes very interesting reading. I already knew
there was a lot of corruption in Spanish politics, but I never imagined the
true extent! I expect it's the same everywhere, isn't it? By the way, your
agent in Spain, the one whose reports I'm reading, who signs JMS. He's
not British, is he?"

"Ha! No! You're quite right. The agent is, or rather was, not British by
birth. And that is one of the points I wanted to talk you about. He had to
resign due to ill health and so, you see, the post is vacant. It's been a few
months now already and we are keen to fill the spot. Our commitments
with the contracting parties there were sometimes quite pressing and we
have just about been managing to cover with substitutes, but that cannot
go on indefinitely. I have you in mind for the post, Michael."

Suddenly everything became clear to me and I burst out, almost shouting,

"Right from the start! That's it, isn't it? From the very beginning when
you got in touch with me last September!"

"Well, yes, I'll admit that since I found out about our relationship, it
occurred to me that you might be the perfect candidate for the job. Who
could be more trustworthy than my own father?! But I assure you that I
have not been playing games with you. We were thrown together by fate,
for better or for worse."

I did my best to contain my shock and said, "listen, Simon, I could ask you
many awkward questions at this point. I mean, 'fate has thrown us
together?'... So, I'm sure you'll appreciate it if I just leave it at this for now.
What exactly is it you have in mind for me to do?"

He did indeed seem relieved by my willingness to accept the situation

without asking a tonne of questions, and said as much. "I really
appreciate your good disposition, and sincerely apologise for my change
of character the other day. I'll get straight to the point. Would you be
prepared to take the post of our agent in Spain? You would have to get in
touch with some of the same people you've been reading about in these
reports."

My mind raced with the possibilities. On the one hand, I was quite happily
settled with Sheila and was saving some steady money, but on the other
hand, it would get me away from my entanglement with Helen. I was
leaning towards accepting, but wanted more information before making
such a big commitment.

"Hmmmm.... how would I keep in touch with you? And how often? Would
I have to fly there and back a lot?"

"Yes, quite often. But sometimes you could even go down to Cadiz to see
you family. And isn't one of your daughters living in Madrid?"

"Yes, it would be good if I could go to see them from time to time, but..."

"What do you think, Michael? Will you accept the post?"

"Well.... This is not a small decision! It's one hell of a proposition! Don't
you think it deserves to be thought over for a while? You have to consider
that in the five months that I've been here, I've started to make a life for
myself. I have some good friends and I feel a certain security in being
relatively close to the clinic, you understand? Though the generosity of
the offer is not lost on me!"

"Yes, of course. I understand. And I do agree that you have to think it

over. Needless to say, your economic situation would improve as your
wages would increase considerably. I think we talked about that before, at
Heathrow, didn't we?"

"Yes, I remember. It was when I was about to board the flight to Seville.
You asked me to come back and work for you. It seemed to me then that
you were a friend, but that all changed here in Hampstead when you
turned into the stern chief. It seemed to me then that our relationship
meant nothing to you. I was merely an old fool asking inconvenient
questions."

He ignored my reference to his behaviour! "Correct. I can see you have a

good memory, and that is what we most value from an agent. I've been
keeping track of the notes you give to Harry and they are quite well done.
Regarding the money, the standard salary for an overseas agent is
12,000 pounds per month. You would also have an expense account
which covers both normal expenses and those incurred when negotiating
with parties. To start with, you would have the help of the person that has
been covering the vacancy. You would be provided with a special laptop
and phone that will keep you connected with us here in London. The
phone will make us aware of your GPS location at all times."

"Thank you, Simon. For the last few months, working with the files, and
especially since you gave me the Spanish files, I have been hoping and
fearing at the same time that I was going to be sent to Spain. And, as this
is what you're telling me now, I imagine there cannot be a NO for an
answer; whatever my choice. As I've already said, I've made friends here,
and I keep up with my physical training, so in general I'm quite content
with my life here. However, Madrid? Well, that could be a great
experience. When would I have to leave? I suppose I'd have to rent an
apartment there, let's say in Madrid, and would have to keep on paying for
the one I have here? Or what?"

"About the one you have here, better talk to Harry. In Madrid you could
probably have the one rented by George (JMS) our previous field agent. I
understand it's been paid twelve months in advance, which should go on
till the end of September 2015. At that point, if necessary, you could look
for a better-priced one. I will check with our accountant, Faye, how much
the rent was and the address do you can enquire, perhaps with your
daughter's help, about the area in Madrid where it's located."

I nodded my agreement, but had to ask one last question. A point I had
been wondering about for some time, every since I started reading the
reports. "One more thing. From what I've read, it seems the job involves
some risks. Is it dangerous? I mean physically dangerous. Some cloak
and dagger spy job? If it's like some of the ones I've been reading about,
I'm afraid I'm just not up to it, despite my new-found strength. I'm sorry if
I'm asking too many questions, but do you really think I'm up to this?
Dealing with scheming politicians? Also, supposing I don't accept this
offer.... I mean only supposing! What would you do with me? Would I be
sacked?"

"First of all, I don't think you're going to refuse, but yes, since you asked,
you would be sacked. Or perhaps you could stay on here, but with no real
prospects for development. An amount would be deducted monthly from
your salary by way of repayment of the debt, your Barclays account would
be blocked, and I would at some point start legal proceedings against you
for failing to repay the debt in a timely manner. Now tell me, are you
seriously considering refusing taking up the post I'm offering you?"

"Well, no. I mean, I never thought of saying a straight no. I only wanted
to know my options and I was curious about just how far you'd go to ruin
me, a man you picked up from the drain, your father no less! Clearly
you've got me by the balls! I'm sensible enough to see I've got more to
lose by refusing than accepting. So, I think I shall say, YES! Bloody Hell!
I'll take you up on it, even if I'm not sure I'll be doing a good job for this
business."

He seemed completely unfazed by my reference to his cold-bloodedness.

"Oh yes, Michael, you'll be fine for the job, considering how quickly you're
picking things up, I think you'll do a fine job. You're on a good level with
most of the people you'll be dealing with. You'd be surprised by the
inefficiency of some of the representatives we deal with there. Indeed you
would. At the beginning I will ask our French agent in the field to
accompany you. By the way, how is your French?"

"Ah, Monsieur Spencer, mon franais vous demand. Alors, oui monsieur,
jen parle assez bien. Pas mieux que langlais mais assez bien pour me
debrouiller avec tout les agents commercials daffairs dans mon metier d
avant. Cetais Courtier maritime."

He let out a low chuckle, "OK,OK, I get the point. Bravo! Yours is better
than mine! I ask because it's possible you will have to travel for some
meeting or other in France. Well, good. Let's leave it there for now. I'll let
you know the details of your departure in due course. Most likely it'll be
next week at some point."

"Well. OK then. No objections from me. I do wish you'd keep being Simon
with me, rather than Mr Spencer. It's a little like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
Surely you can see it from my point of view? Our relationship is very
confusing for me. The thing is, I don't know whether it's me that's to
blame for not fitting in with the plan you've designed for me. Don't you
feel the same?"

"Yes, of course I do, Mike. I agree it's very confusing. Ours is an

exceptional case. But, for the sake of running the company and avoiding
any issues with unwanted witnesses... you know who I mean." He was
looking down towards Harry's office as he said this.

"Well, that's clear, I suppose. Maybe I'm stupid, but it's not every day that
you find a long-lost son!" We were both silent for a moment, thinking
about the truth of that statement. After a moment, I continued. "Also,
you know, I'll need some time to say goodbye to my friends. Good
friends, that no doubt you already know about. And I suppose you also
know that for the first two months I was meeting with Helen Tathill."

"Yes, I knew. She told me last week that she'd been having an affair with
you. That it had been a happy time seeing you nearly every weekend in
Maidenhead, but that after a few weeks you had a row due to some
misunderstanding and that you had agreed to separate for a while. She
told me she thought you probably had a girlfriend here."

"It was a happy time. Despite the difference in age we were quite happy
for some time, even if we did only see each other at weekends, which
involved a lot of travelling for both of us, and wasn't cheap either. And
yes, it's true that now I have a close friend here in Hampstead."

"Well, never mind about a little sexual relief from time to time, but I would
advise you to keep Helen's friendship as much as possible. She might still
go back to her ex-husband, or who knows, maybe she'll meet someone
else. If that happens, do try to be her friend. She's a lovely person and
she deserves to be treated kindly." I was a little surprised to hear such
gentle words coming from Simon. He really was like two different people!

I gave Simon my final agreement to accept the position in Spain. I

couldn't very well have refused! I was at a loss to understand why he
wanted me there, with my low to medium commercial knowledge! I was
to be the one to negotiate on behalf of the SSIA?! I really was
dumbfounded by his choice of me. Still, my self-doubts aside, it really was
a very attractive position. We shook hands and I went back down to my
cubicle, where work continued as usual while I waited for Simon to make
the necessary arrangements for my departure.

I called Aitana from the payphone and was pleased to find that she finally
had some news. The analysis of the pills was definitive. The chemical
technical names were too long to tell me about, but roughly the contents
were: 50% aspirin, 25% amphetamine, with the other 25% comprised of
various chemicals that could not be traced by the pharmacopoeia in use.
The only difference in the contents of the white morning ones and the blue
evening ones was the quantity of amphetamines. But the baffling thing
was the untraceable substance. That was the enigma, and the danger.
So, they were not a placebo after all, meaning that I had been pinned
down all along, ever since my release from the clinic. I would have to
continue taking them, or risk endangering my health! I had no choice but
to do as I was told! It was blackmail, plain and simple! But, what could
be their purpose in doing it? Was it just me they were doing it to, or to all
the SSIA agents? It was a complete mystery and Aitana was just as
baffled as I was.

She couldn't tell me the solution to the problem. I was tied up, twice.
Firstly with Simon, being my true biological son, and secondly with the
pills, as it now seemed that they really did serve some purpose and
stopping taking them was therefore out of the question. They had told me
at the clinic that the purpose of the pills was to settle down my
biologically modified body during the rejuvenation process for at least two
years. There was also the matter of the 200,000 debt to the Foundation.
There was no way I could pay that back without accepting the work
offered by Simon. That was one of the reasons I had accepted the
position. I couldn't have refused given the circumstances, but there was
also the fact that I would enjoy more freedom in Madrid. I knew they
would be tracing me at all times. Therefore, I didn't have much to think
about it. Actually I had made up my mind as soon as Simon made the
proposal, but I had delayed saying so in order to learn more about it. With
all this going through my mind, I slept little and with nightmares.

Due to this, despite having drunk a double espresso before heading to the
office, when I sat down at my desk, my mind was swimming. I regretted
not having had the will to jog down to work, as I usually did. I knew I was
overtired and resolved to keep as quiet as possible.

I continued reading the files I had been given and taking extensive notes.
It was 10:00 and I was debating whether or not to call Simon, or wait for
him to call me, when my intercom buzzed. I answered without hesitation.

"Hello Mr Spencer. Good morning." I thought it best to maintain formality,

as you never knew who might be listening.

"Good morning Michael. Have you had any second thoughts regarding
what we talked about yesterday, and your decision to accept my offer?"

"No. No second thoughts. As I said yesterday, I am ready to accept your

offer."

"Very good. Once you have finished whatever you're working on at the
moment, could you come up to my office? Harry knows I am expecting
you, so no need to run it by him."

I told him I wouldn't be long and finished my work quickly. I passed

Harry's office, we waved me along, sullenly, it seemed to me. Simon met
me in the doorway to his office. He was not alone and I recognised his
companion as one of the guys I had seen him leaving the pub with.
"Come in Michael. Let me introduce you to Mr Stansbury. He's one of our
communications engineers, and he's going to be helping you brush up on
your technical skills. Let's all sit down shall we so that we can talk more
comfortably.

Instead of sitting behind his big mahogany desk, he invited us to sit

around a side table. It was positioned off to the side of the big office and I
hadn't noticed it before.

He offered us coffee and I said that I would prefer tea. "My stomach is all
full of butterflies at the moment!"

"Hmmm... I'm afraid the only thing I have prepared is coffee and we don't
have a lot of time right now. You'll have to wait until we finish for a cup of
tea."

"OK, Mr Spencer. No problem, I'm sure I can wait."

"OK. As I was saying before, part of Mr Stansbury's job is to keep in touch

with a number of our agents abroad and you shall be one of those agents.
The two of you will be in frequent contact, using the various devices which
you'll have to get up to speed with."

"Devices?"

They then gave me a rundown of the various communications devices

which I would be using. Some of them seemed quite complicated. Simon
took a quick phone call and then advised Mr Stansbury and I to go to his
office nearby to proceed with my training.

Mr Stansbury asked me to call him David, and after just a few minutes I
felt quite at ease with him. He was a young man of about thirty with an
open and friendly manner. He began his tutorial starting with the basic
ways in which I should communicate with the main office. He stressed the
importance of the codes, passwords, protocols and devices to be used in
each case. Despite my well-trained memory I noted down the sequences
of each code. I asked how the prospective clients got in touch with us and
he played me a recorded message: "Hello, and welcome to the SSIA
London. We would like to assure you that your enquiry with always be
treated in the strictest confidence in accordance with our principles of
integrity and discretion. We are sorry there's nobody around just now to
take your call, but if you would care to leave a simple message of no more
than three minutes, one of our consultants will get back to you as soon as
possible. Please leave your message after the tone."

David explained that to get reach that message the enquirer had to dial a
given phone number that went via a highly selective switchboard and was
then relayed to our central communications system in the basement here
in the London office. The calls were then traced back and the identity of
the caller was studied. Were they genuine or not? On behalf of whom
were they making the enquiry? If the call was deemed to be genuine, it
was then passed on to the local agent along with the results of the
background study and they would contact the prospective client directly
to arrange a meeting.

As with nearly everything, it was a matter of practice, and by that time I

had already developed some experience with their systems, so I
understood most of the facts he laid out for me. He continued for some
time and I was quite absorbed, taking down notes as quickly as I could.
Then he said, "Let's take a break for now." We'd been at it for over two
hours! "You're doing just fine, but it's always a good idea to rest your
brain from time to time. I imagine you're hungry by now, as I certainly
am. It's my custom to meet with my colleagues next door around this
time to go grab a sandwich. After that I have to grab a few things from at
the shopping centre, so if it's OK with you, we'll pick this up again this
afternoon at 15:30. How does that sound?"

"OK. Something to eat does sound like a good idea! First I'd like to
rewrite my notes to get it all clarified in my mind."

"Sure, no problem, but you can't take the stairs down to the office at the
moment. They are always locked at this time. You'll have to take the lift
to the ground floor and then take the outside stairs to the general office.
You have the code, I imagine?"

I told him that I did and we parted company for the time being.

I went down by the lift to the ground floor, then up by the stairs to general
office to my cubicle to look back over my notes for a while. I was left
alone. No one was there. Simon had been a lot kinder today, but I was
sure he wouldn't welcome any interruption at that point. I checked my
messages, and as there weren't any I decided to go and stretch my legs
for a bit with a walk. I would head over to the pub for a portion of my
favourite steak and kidney pie and then go to the newsagent to buy some
pads and loose A4 paper, which I would drop off at the apartment before
heading back here.

Before leaving, I reread my notes. There were some points that I wanted
David to clarify, but then my thoughts wandered to Helen. What was I
going to tell her? I wanted to tell her now. Ideally, I'd like to see her to
say goodbye, but would she want to see me? After all, we had drifted
apart. Because of my feelings for Sheila? I was just standing up to leave
when Simon buzzed me on the intercom.

"Just one question Michael, before you leave for lunch. I have to tell you,
before I forget, that we, the SSIA, have no political orientation here or
elsewhere. Regarding Britain, we are neither pro Labour nor Conservative.
The question is, Michael, are you for the socialist party in Spain, or do you
favour the Partido Popular?"

"Well, as matter of fact, some years ago I was pro-socialism but now I'm
more of the opinion that the big parties are as bad as each other and the
smaller ones are a little too utopian at present. I'm afraid they may make
the same mistakes as other Spanish visionaries in recent history. So, the
answer is no, I don't have any political affiliation, so I wouldn't favour one
nor the other."
"Great! I was expecting you to say that. You were just leaving to get
some lunch?"

"Mr Stansbury wanted to get lunch with some colleagues and then do a bit
of shopping, so yes, I was going to pop out for a bit myself."

"How about us getting something together? I think it would do us good to

have a chance to talk at our ease."

"Well, sure!" I was surprised but pleased and told him I would enjoy that
very much. It would also give me the opportunity to discuss a few things
with him that I'd been wondering about for some time.

He asked the caretaker to call a taxi for us, and fifteen minutes later we
were sitting in a nice restaurant, off the road to Primsole Hill, not elegant
but functional. I let him order for me, and he chose a Lancashire hotpot.
It was excellent! It was the closest thing to a Spanish 'puchero' I had seen
in all my time in Britain. We were both enjoying the food and the time
passed pleasantly enough.

Then Simon came to the point!

"By the way, Michael, excuse me for prying, but, you've been seeing
Helen Tathill lately, haven't you?"

"Eh? Err... yes. Didn't I already tell you about that? We were seeing each
other most weekends in Maidenhead, until recently when we decided we
could both use a break. Of course, I'd like to see her again if I get the
chance in the future."

"Yes, yes, of course you'll have time to see her again, if you wish. You
have to consider though that she might no longer be available. I mean,
since you're going to be living abroad now... If she did move on in your
absence, she'd be right to do so. Don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose that's true. And I imagine that's exactly what'll happen. In
fact, we've already agreed on that point. We're both free to pursue any
relationship we want. I was thinking of calling her to tell her about my
leaving. We promised that whatever happened we would still remain
friends. This is the advice you gave me, remember? Keep her friendship,
for she's well worth it. And I couldn't agree more."

"Well, quite. And once you get settled in over there, you'll have all the
spare time you need to make new friends, but always within the scope of
the work, mind you. Sometimes you'll only work a couple of hours a day,
but other times you'll find yourself pressed for time to cover all the jobs
you are involved in. You can, of course, go to Cadiz to visit your family,
provided you run it by us first, and you'll be able to pick up the car you
still have there. The little Mercedes A200 that I let you have."

Let me have?! It hadn't been a gift as I recalled. I didn't say anything,

despite my surprise, and he continued.

"It has the correct image for you as a representative of the SSIA, though
most of our other agents, you'll find, will be driving big Audis or BMWs.
That's the nature of our service. We don't feel it's necessary to show off.
Your character has to be enough to show that you are trustworthy and
capable of providing the service they require of you. So far we have
managed to avoid getting involved in any of the political intrigue and that
is how it must continue. We do exactly what they contract us to do and
nothing more. The power they can gain from the information we provide
them regarding their opponents intentions and schemes is worth a great
deal of money to them and they pay us without hesitation. And, coming
to the point Michael, honesty and faithfulness to your employer is what we
are asking of you. Indeed, of all our agents."

"Of course, Simon. That is understood. But please allow me to now say
'off the record', and also on a personal level... I think I understand your
need for total loyalty. I see the picture much better now. So, allow me to
give you my point of view. The reason you tracked me down in Cadiz, and
talked me into coming with you to England to enter the geriatric project
was because of your mother's dying wish that you do something for me.
And I'm grateful for that. All that I understand. I see the motivation and
the end. But, there's still something I don't get. The puzzle for me is that
I honestly don't see why you have given me this job! I mean, it just
doesn't seem quite logical to me. There must be hundreds of people more
qualified than me to do this job. Unless there's some other reason than
my unbreakable fidelity to you, due to my being your father. But even
that, as you've already told me, is a circumstantial accident."

My rather long speech had obviously surprised him, for he was staring at
me and it took him a while to answer. His response, when it came, was
unexpectedly moving.

"You know, Michael, you underestimate yourself. And me. Of course we

select all our agents to be well-prepared and unfailingly loyal. Even
before I knew for sure that you were my biological father, I had the
company run a full background check on you. And in fact, I carried out
most of the enquiries myself. I found you to be a man of integrity,
hardworking and trustworthy. I also have to say that the time and money
invested on preparing you for the post now looks to have been
worthwhile."

He continued in this way for some minutes longer, but didn't exactly
answer my question. The meal lasted around two hours and proved to be
extremely interesting. Whatever I had been to him before, besides our
family relationship; king and pawn; employer and employee, I had the
feeling that it had changed for the better. However, I still had this nagging
sensation that not all had been said and that he was keeping something
hidden. He had repeated several times the necessity of being extremely
careful due to the nature of the work we dealt with. Apparently there had
been some carelessness in the past that had had to be dealt with quickly.

He had also told me that on the day we had had the blow-out due to my
asking if the company was involved in anything illegal, he had been
dealing with some serious issues abroad. Due to that, his temper had
been more fragile than usual and he understood that he had hurt my
feelings. Also, he said that he understood that I must be feeling quite
bewildered due to all that had happened in so short a space of time. My
discovery that I was his father, the recent changes in my physiology and
home life. At that point I was about to interrupt to say that the agent in
Madrid was nowhere to be found, at least as far as I was aware, but
thought better of it. I supposed he had been fired due to some
indiscretion, particularly as Simon kept reiterating the need for
confidentiality, and imagined that he was probably the one who had
caused whatever mess Simon had been dealing with back then.

We were picked up by the same taxi driver who had dropped us off, and
who, incidentally, had met me at Heathrow last January. Had he been
waiting all this time? They dropped me at the office at 15:00, just in time
for my meeting with David. As it turned out, punctuality was a waste of
time, as David was busy and asked me if I minded postponing our meeting
until the following morning as he had a backlog of work on his desk.

I went back down to my cubicle to ponder everything that had been said
during the meal and also to write down the things that I wanted David to
clarify for me. Simon had not come back into the office as he was driving
his Lexus down to Berkshire. He had said that he had given me the
Mercedes A200, but had not mentioned my debt. So, for me the mystery
continued. Why the hell had he chosen me, after the promise to his
mother had been completed, to work for his company and in so close a
position to himself? He had said it was due to my personal merits, but I
just didn't buy it! It intrigued me that he seemed unwilling to let me go,
whilst also unwilling to pursue a true father, son relationship.

It seemed to me that my best option at present was to take what I was

offered. To go to Madrid and take up the post of the missing agent.
Though, I couldn't help but wonder how I was going to be capable of
navigating such dangerous waters in Spain.

At 17:30, as everybody was heading home for the day, I put on my

tracksuit and trainers and left, waving goodbye to Harry in his glass cage.
Jogging had proved to be an excellent remedy whenever I felt uneasy,
since my days at the clinic.

The training I received from Mr Stansbury continued for a few more days.
I had to learn the protocols by heart. There were specific texting signals
for the phone and the laptop doubled as an ordinary computer and also as
an exceptionally fast communications device. David also showed me the
communications room in the basement and introduced me to the five
people who worked there in near darkness, watching their screens and
managing their complex consoles. This was the SSIA communications
centre where all radio transmissions were received, decoded and analysed
before being sent up to the proper person in the general office and from
there to the team upstairs.

They had all kinds of next-generation devices and computers which

received and sent encrypted messages. When I wanted to talk to them, I
would first have to enter my code on the phone, plus the number of the
person I wanted to communicate with, (X1=Spencer, X2=Stuart,
X3=Stansbury, etc.) and then wait by the open laptop for the OK to text or
send a video transmission.

"In fact", David was saying, "this room has all the next-generation
facilities in communications, from the already outdated fax machine to the
new cyber drone devices."

"Drones?" I asked. "What do we use the drones for?"

But he eluded my question, merely stating that the ones there were not
yet operational and were in fact only prototypes currently under testing. I
wondered about them. I had heard about them being used in different
situations. For spying; for the military. Did the SSIA use them spy for our
clients? I'd have to ask about that too.

"This equipment here, Michael, registers all phone calls from the agents
wanting to leave a recorded message." He showed me the key I had to
press to make it work. You can see it's working by the little red dot there.
Around the second week of May, David decided that I was properly trained
and he took me to see Simon, who was already expecting us in his office.
His door was already open, but David knocked and waited for permission
to enter. Simon got up as we entered, greeted me kindly and invited us to
sit down to discuss my readiness for the job. Had Harry and David given
me sufficient training?

I told him that I felt I was ready and he told me he would look into the best
time for me to leave for Spain. First, he would have to check with Henry,
the French agent who'd been covering the vacant Madrid station and
travelling frequently between Madrid and Paris. He was supposed to be
with me for the first few days, and if possible accompany me on my first
client meeting to provide moral support and assistance if needed. His
name was Henry Dickson, he'd been with the firm for about four years,
and was apparently very efficient.

Simon thanked David for his efforts in showing me the ropes, and then
asked him politely to leave us to talk over some private matters. After
David left, his questions were mostly of a personal nature, regarding how I
felt about returning to my country, weather I was sorry to be leaving my
new friends here in Hampstead, and above all, how I felt about going so
far away from Helen, given the closeness of our relationship. He told me
he knew we had been chatting on an almost weekly basis by phone. I had
told him we were still in contact, but had said nothing about the frequency
and why did he keep coming back again and again to the topic of my
relationship with Helen? I felt anger welling up inside me, but managed to
stifle it. I merely asked him how he knew how often we'd been in contact.
His reply was not altogether unexpected. After all, the company made its
money by monitoring people!

"I'd better tell you that your iPhone is also a GPS tracker that can be,
repeat, can be, automatically followed by our systems everywhere you go,
and indeed, while you're in Spain, it will be. You will be required to have it
on you at all times. It has a long-lasting battery, and it will advise you
when it's running low so that you recharge it. Maintained in good
condition and depending of course on use, it should last about seven days.
If by any chance it gets disconnected, or if the GPS location remains
unchanged for more than twelve hours we'll call you to check up on you."

"Hmmm.... well, that doesn't exactly surprise me, but I must say I didn't
think you'd consider that kind of breach of privacy with me. In normal
circumstances, if I were really free, I'd lose my rag at this point and say 'to
Hell with everything'." It was taking every ounce of self-control I had not
to raise my voice and do exactly that!

"However," I continued, "as you already know, I don't dare do that due to
my dependence on the pills and the issue of the debt to the Foundation,
so you have me by the short-and-curlies." I sighed as I said, "I really have
no choice but to accept this invasion of privacy and take it as a lesson to
be much more careful in future. I suppose, at least, that's something that
will serve me in my new job, for I'm afraid now I won't trust anyone."

There. I'd said my piece and felt it was time to change the subject. It
wouldn't help to get angry and I couldn't do anything about the situation
anyway. I smiled and said, tentatively, "Since you already know my
situation with Helen, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I invited her over for a
while. It would give us the opportunity to make up properly and she could
perhaps assist me with some SSIA assignments."

He seemed to ponder that suggestion for a moment, before answering

me, "well, yes, I don't see why not. If she agreed, she could help enhance
your prestige with the people you'll have to mix with in Madrid. But there
would come moments when you'd have to subtly ask her to leave, in order
to be free to discuss 'private' matters. You see?"

"Yes, I see. Always maintain secrecy regarding our dealings. All the same,
Simon, I think maybe Helen knows a little about SSIA activities, though not
from me. Perhaps from you? I suspect you're rather closer friends than
you've let on, aren't you?"
He chucked a little at that. "Yes, indeed. She is, after all, an intelligent
woman. You can invite her over whenever you feel it's convenient. And,
as I said, she's a very attractive woman and would give your image a
boost, but you must take care not to disclose the purpose of our dealings
to her. I expect you can manage that. Only, remember, you mustn't be
too disappointed if she can't or won't do it for whatever reason. A
boyfriend perhaps."

It seemed to me that as he said this last part, there was something of a

smirk on his face. Was I imagining it? I didn't really have time to wonder
about it further as he sent me down to see Harry to get the plane tickets
and other details of the journey.

"Goodbye, Michael. We'll keep in touch."

I was to travel to Madrid on 20th May, nearly five months after I had
joined SSIA at the London office. I was given the last instructions by
David, who patiently went over things again. I had the iPhone in my
jacket pocket, and the laptop inside its case and this inside my small cabin
suitcase.

I checked the bigger suitcase with the airline. I was to travel business
class to retain better control over my cabin baggage. Harry, rather curtly,
gave me the ticket and the keys, and told me that the apartment in
Madrid, which had been previously occupied by the former agent, JMS, in
Apartamentos Plaza, c/San Vicente, 10 and which was paid up until
September 30th 2015, was ready for me. "It's in the centre of Madrid and,
though rather pricey, it will be a suitable place to show to prospective
clients. And, by the way, the rent includes a parking space in the
basement of the building."

Here, he handed me two little boxes, each containing seventy-five

business cards, with my name and the address there. "I must stress that
once you get to the apartment, make sure you are alone and check the
door has been kept double-locked. Once inside, you should use your
phone to get in touch with us. Enter your personal code, wait a few
minutes for the response and then text to confirm your arrival. OK?"

"Yes, thank you Harry. I was already instructed on these points by David.
But Harry, I wanted to know what to do with the apartment here in
London. I'm paying 1,000 monthly, in advance, and I paid a two-month
deposit when I moved in. Would you be able to cancel the rent and
recover the deposit for me, please? I thought about keeping the
apartment, but 1,000 is a lot of money to pay for a temporary residence
and I suppose that when I am back, it will only be for short periods."

"Right, I'll see about this directly and recover what I can of the deposit for
you. They will, however, deduct some money for lack of notice I
suppose."

"No doubt you're right about that, but it was unavoidable. After all, I
didn't know the departure date until today."

"True, true. I'll speak with Mr Spencer about it. Perhaps he can pull some
strings. Right, here's your departure schedule. Wednesday 20th May,
9:00 outside your apartment building. Wait for our driver to take you to
Heathrow Airport. As I think you know already, you are travelling business
class in order to maintain control of your cabin baggage. It's always more
difficult to keep an eye on your things tourist class. In the meantime, you
should use your time to reread the last Spanish reports. Also Spanish and
English newspapers, and particularly our consular reports regarding the
political and economic problems there."

With all that in mind, I called Helen on Thursday 14th May to tell her that,
despite our stupid misunderstanding, I still loved her and would like to see
her before I left for Spain. She said she felt the same, but that she was
very busy at that moment and didn't foresee any time off during the
coming week. I told her that I would call her from Madrid and that in due
course I would probably be able to invite her to stay with me there. She
said she would be happy to take me up on that and that she thought she
might be able to get some time off the following month!
Although her words were affectionate, I thought I detected some doubt.
Her tone seemed somewhat colder than before, though perhaps I was
imagining that. Perhaps she was not alone and was therefore unable to
speak freely? Or perhaps she was being guarded as she knew or
suspected that our conversations were being recorded.

Though I was sorry I wouldn't get to say goodbye to Helen in person, I also
wanted to spend some time with Sheila. In the days before my departure,
I continued jogging in the mornings before heading to the office to see
either David or Jerry until midday. Later I did some shopping and bought,
among other things, a nice, expensive bracelet for Sheila, who thanked
me with one of her best private shows in her apartment!

As the 20th approached, I was both was sad and sorry to leave. Sheila
and I had been having such a good time. I lied when I told her that I'd be
away only a couple of weeks at a time in Madrid. I know I should have
told her the truth, but she was happy at the prospect of seeing me often
and I didn't want to do anything to dampen the mood. And who knew?
Perhaps it would be possible after all!

There had been no strings attached in our relationship. No words of love.

It had been entirely physical to start with and we'd been enjoying a very
healthy sex-life. It still surprised me at times, her liking for the lone
foreigner! Still, our relationship had developed into something deeper.
Did I love her? I was certainly going to miss her. She was sexually-
uninhibited and would trot around wearing nothing but a tiny pair of
knickers. She would even practice some dance steps like that, inviting me
to join her, and when I tried to follow her coaching, we would end up a
tangled heap on the floor, one on top of the other. She was delightful!

Despite my assurances that our separation would be short-lived, with a

woman's intuition she seemed to sense that this would be the end for us.
She was a proud woman and wouldn't complain. She said she was sorry I
was leaving and left it at that, but I could tell her feelings ran deeper. She
only asked that I call first before coming back so she could get rid of any
other company she had! Although she feigned lack of concern, she
couldn't hide a tears that slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them
away, hurriedly and said that when I came to town she would always be
sure to make herself available to share dinner and a chat. To save me
from my loneliness in cold Hampstead!

One thing that had changed leading up to my departure, was that I was
now free to roam about the office, going wherever I wanted and I took
advantage of this to learn as much as I could about the electronic devices
in the basement, particularly the experimental drones. There were three
of them enclosed in special small containers. These drones could be as
small as a fly, and therefore spy ad hoc.

Simon and I had one more lunch together. He seemed to have returned to
the cheerful, friendly chap that I had met in Seville eight months before.
True, there was not the affection that there could've been between father
and son, but it seemed that some barriers had been lowered. We chatted
amiably about our families and found that our situations shared certain
similarities.

As for the job ahead of me, he was the best teacher. He had plenty of
field knowledge. Doubtless he knew Spain and life in my country better
than I did. He insisted once more that our peculiar relationship should not
be made known to the employees, and said that I had to be particularly
careful with Harry, who could become troublesome. He was both the
oldest SSIA employee, and a small shareholder; a member of the Board.
This was news to me! Harry a shareholder?

"But, what about Jerry?" I asked. "He was the one who took my blood
sample to the lab. Didn't he see the DNA certificate?"

"No, no. The envelope was sealed and I sent him away before I opened it.
Remember?"

"But, didn't he know the nature of the test?" Surely he must suspect
something. "
"No. He merely dropped off the sample. He wasn't privy to the nature of
the analysis."

That being settled, we said goodbye and assured each other we would
stay in close contact.

On 20th May 2015, everything went according to plan. I took a taxi from
Barajas Airport to Apartamentos Plaza. I showed my credentials and a
copy of the lease to the security guard and went up to the fourth floor to
apartment 4B. It was quite big, and had been kept clean. I called the
caretaker and asked him to let the maid know of my arrival and request
that she come up to the apartment at 10:00 the following morning. I had
complied with the instructions from London regarding my arrival report,
which had been acknowledged, and so, for the moment, there was
nothing more to do. It was Friday, and although one hour earlier in Britain,
it would be about 14:00, meaning that the office would soon be closing for
the weekend. I unpacked my luggage and changed into more casual
clothes, more suitable for the warmer Madrid weather.

I didn't want to phone my wife or daughter yet. I preferred to settle in first

and relax a little. I needed some time to get used to my new environment
and job. Although the laptop battery showed half-full, I plugged it into the
mains to recharge and put it under one of the twin beds in the spare room,
out of sight, with a little plastic gadget that would show me if it had been
shifted.

Later, I went out to do some shopping at Hipercor, which the caretaker

had told me was quite nearby, in Calle Preciados. I was excited to see
Madrid again, after so much time. People were no more cheerful here
than in Hampstead, but there was more noise and smells here. I went into
Hipercor, carrying my briefcase with the iPhone inside. To all intents and
purposes, we were now inseparable. I kept the microphone off for the
time being, but the company was no doubt aware of my movements due
to the GPS.
In Hipercor, I bought a small, cheap G3 mobile with forty prepaid minutes,
and a HP printer, with which to print my reports. I would use the mobile to
get in touch with my family and with Sheila in private. I didn't fancy the
company listening to my conversations with them! I didn't intend to call
Helen just yet. She had told me she would be busy for a while anyway. I
had an early dinner in the restaurant of the department store El Corte
Ingles and then went back to Hipercor and bought a computer with all the
latest software already installed. I arranged for the computer and printer
to be delivered the following morning, along with a technician to connect
and test the line. No, I didn't know if it was ordinary copper or fibre-optic
line. I assured them that if this meant it would take more time I would be
happy to pay extra, but they told me that wouldn't be necessary.

I also bought some fruit, vegetables, milk, coffee and other bits and
pieces, which I also had delivered. I handed them my business card with
the address and paid using my new Barclaycard which had been given to
me by Faye, the accountant. I had been given a 12,000 advance, most
of which I had put in the apartment safe, except for a small amount of
pocket money.

After taking care of the shopping, I went for a stroll up to La Puerta del Sol,
which was very cheerful and noisy. It was by now nearly 21:00 and a
chilly wind had started to blow. I was under-dressed for the change in
temperature, so I decided to head back to the apartment, my new home,
and have a relaxing evening in front of the TV.

However amiably Simon and I had left things at our last meeting, the fact
remained that I was somehow a hostage of the Spencer Foundation, owing
more to the pills on which I was dependent than to the money I owed. For
how much longer would I have to take them? Indefinitely?

Now alone in my splendid apartment I thought about the pros and cons of
this new stage of my life. True, they were blackmailing me into
submissiveness, but on the other hand I had to admit that there were
plenty of advantages to be enjoyed. I came to the conclusion that it was
better to wait and see, and try to enjoy my new life. I wouldn't worry
about the replacement of the pills at least until the end of October. I had
enough to last me until mid-December 2015 and at some point before
that, I supposed I would have to get in touch with Dr Hilmarton. Or could I
dare it and wait and see if my body showed any signs of weakness upon
stopping? But what if I did that and it proved to be too late to reverse the
damage? Well... I would just have to wait and see how I felt closer to the
time.

The best thing for now was to let things carry on as they were, get on with
the job I had been prepared to do, saving as much money as I could, in
the case I got fed up and needed an out. I also considered the possibility
that at some point a job might crop up that I was unprepared to do. I had
read in the reports about some rather extreme cases where ruthlessness
was required. What if they asked me to do something that I felt I couldn't?
My wages would be stopped immediately. Also, the executive department
could send somebody to try to convince me by some more expeditious
means, and I would have to anticipate this, get all I could together and
escape to the other end of the world. That, of course, was the worst case
scenario and in reality I supposed that it was unlikely to happen. There
was also the fact that the classified information that I would be compelled
to deal with, no doubt, involved the movement of huge sums of money,
and if I were to make a mistake and screw up some important deal I would
also have to get out quickly.

I spent a lot of time pondering the whirlwind of events that had happened
since all this began. My opinion of Simon's character had changed so
many times since our first strange meeting. From the philanthropic guy in
Seville, to the shocking news that he was my son. He had convinced me
that in my current state I had between four to six years left and on that
basis had seduced me into following him to Bioclyde to participate in the
geriatric project. There, the joyful gradual improvement of my health and
my whole body, followed swiftly by the disappointment at discovering him
to be a hard man; the ruthless COE of the intelligence organization that
sold confidential information to competitors in banks, political parties and
all fields of industry. Then the transformation back to the friendly guy,
wishing me all the best during our final lunch together the day before I
had left for Madrid.

The constant changes in his mood and character left me spinning. It was
clear to me that he had me right where he wanted me. But where exactly
was that? And what on Earth could I do about it? Where could I turn for
advice? The answers were quite clear: Nothing and Nowhere. And, there
in Madrid, despite my renewed vitality, I was tired. One part of me
wanted to go out and relax my brain. Just forget about the stressful
situation. But there was another part of me that felt quite comfortable
sitting in the big leather armchair, watching the 42" smart TV. Little by
little I began to relax, feeling calmer in both body and mind. I opened a
bottle of red wine, a can of tuna, and a bag of crisps. I was nearly happy.
I decided I would call my family the following day to let them know the
news. But I would only share the good news. That I had just arrived in
Spain and would try to go and visit them soon.

Of all them, only Aitana knew the truth regarding my incredible

connection with my new boss. Therefore, she was the only one I could
share my concerns with and it seemed like a good idea to invite her, along
with her husband and daughter, to come and visit me. They would be
able to take advantage of my parking space and I could call her using my
new phone to avoid being listened in on. I would give her directions on
how to get to my new apartment and I would go down to welcome them in
and show them the underground garage. I would definitely do it
tomorrow, I thought.

It was Friday, around 22:00 GMT and I decided to give Helen a call. I used
the company mobile as they already knew of our connection and I would
say nothing to her that I was uncomfortable being overheard. She was at
home, apparently watching TV with some friends, as the weather was
lousy. She sounded happy to hear that everything was going well with
me, and asked me to keep her informed, as much as I could, about my
work here.

She told me that she was quite alright, but a little tired as she had had a
very busy week at the clinic. I already knew that sometimes she had to
work overtime when new clients entered the clinic. She didn't say 'I miss
you', and neither did I, though before we hung up we did say to 'take care
darling' and other endearments. I didn't know what to think. Was our
relationship over? It seemed a little like goodbye.

I also called Sheila, but this time I used my new mobile. It was a relief to
hear the obvious happiness in her voice to hear from me. I'd already told
her that I'd been sent here by the company, but that I expected frequent
trips back and forth, but I think she had doubted that I would get in touch.
She took my new mobile number and email address and we promised to
keep in touch frequently.

Later, despite having intended to put it off, I also called my wife, Isabel.
Though she told me she was quite well, it was clear to me that she was
suffering as a result of my abandonment. How naive I had been to think
when I was at the clinic that we would be able to continue our
relationship. I had changed my life completely. Gone to a place where
she could not follow. I longed to fix the situation and to do something to
help her come to terms with things, but I just didn't know how. The
damage had been done and would be impossible to fix.

After speaking with Isabel, I called my daughter Rachel, who also lived in
Cadiz. She was happy that I was in Madrid and promised to visit soon.
Next I called Aitana with the same news and invited her to come over for
lunch the following day. I had decided, why wait? She was happy to hear
from me and accepted my invitation. And so, I went to sleep that night
feeling quite content and looking forward to seeing my daughter and her
family the following morning.

They arrived promptly around midday and were once again astonished to
see me looking so young and healthy. Their surprise at my sudden
success was obvious. The lavish apartment in the most exclusive part of
Madrid!

We went out to eat at a good restaurant nearby and afterwards, as the

weather was good, we went for a stroll in the neighbourhood gardens. I
wanted to talk with Aitana in private, outside the apartment. I had my
suspicions that it might very well be bugged! It would also provide me
with a chance to scope out a good jogging route. I told them of my fitness
routine and they exclaimed, "jogging?!"

"Yes", I replied. "That's how I've been keeping fit. Well, aerobics and
jogging, actually. If I can, I do it every day. The doctors at the clinic
recommended it."

We walked around for a while and I found the perfect track for jogging. As
we walked, we came across a play area, where her husband Jose stopped
to play with their son Alex. Jose said they would catch up with us in due
course if we stuck to the same path and so Aitana and I were given the
opportunity to chat in private. After a while, we came to a bench and took
a seat. I had told her that I preferred to speak outside the apartment for
fear of hidden microphones.

"But, dad. Let me tell you that this all seems very strange. You had, or
rather you have, your issues with the CEO of the company, who also
happens to be your son. And what kind of work are you doing here for his
company to let you have such a fantastic place?! And at the same time,
you're worried that you're being spied on by the company! Are you doing
something illegal? Something to do with drugs or illegal arms?"

It seemed ironic to hear the same fears voiced by my daughter as I had

myself expressed to Simon! I told her, without going into too much detail,
that there was nothing illegal in it and that it was something to do with
gathering and sharing intelligence regarding commercial agreements
between the company in London and some Spanish firms. Indeed, I
couldn't have gone into detail even if I had wanted to, for I really didn't
know myself what I would end up doing. I would simply have to comply
with my orders as they came and provide whatever service was required
of me. What little I did know, I was not at liberty to share with anyone,
including my family.

That that was one of the rules I couldn't break. That, as far as everybody
else was concerned, family included, I was a representative of a British
company with business interests here in Spain. And that, as far as I knew,
was the truth, or at least a part of it.

I was happy to tell her that my disagreements with Simon had been
largely resolved and that his behaviour towards me had improved greatly
and I thanked her for her support and for listening to my worries. They
analysis of the pills and the DNA had served to clarify my suspicions on
the matter of his truly being my son, and it was invaluable to me to know
that the pills were not simply a placebo used to control me. I knew now
that I would have to continue taking them, at least for the next 18
months, and then, depending on how my relationship with the company
progressed, I would make my decision. In the worse-case scenario it
would mean escaping with enough money to be able to find a good clinic
where I could undergo treatment for drug addiction. That is, of course, if
my physical state started to decline. I knew I was walking a fine line, but
there was no way back. What was done was done. I had been hooked by
bait too tempting to release. Who could refuse another chance at life? I
told Aitana that, on the whole, despite my concerns, I considered myself
fortunate, and that if anything went wrong I knew that I would have
nobody to blame but myself and that as she was the only one who knew
the truth, she was also the only one I could count on for support. But she
soon made it clear that she would not be my shoulder to cry on.

"I get it dad, and it's understandable up to a point. I suppose the majority
of people would've made the same decision. But... still. I believe that
now, people will not understand what you've done and given time, I think
you'll come to regret it yourself. I mean, look. What's going to happen
with us as a family? You don't fit with us anymore! You look more like you
could be my husband than my father, for God's sake! And worst of all,
what're you going to do about mum? I know she's trying to put a brave
face on it, but honestly, she doesn't sound very good, and her health is
already... she's going to suffer for your selfishness." Here she trailed off,
looking dejectedly at the floor.

I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but I couldn't. I was already feeling
bad about Isabel, but I felt she had helped to push me away with her
constant complaining the previous Christmas. I told Aitana she was right,
but that I had been much less conscious of that fact before my return to
Spain. "You see, I had been so busy in London and under so much stress
that I had not given too much thought to these things. Sometimes I did
take the tube downtown to see a film or something. And... I made some
friends there too."

"Friends?" She asked, somewhat bitterly. "I guess I would expect that
given your extroverted character. You must've made some female friends,
you being you... you must've had some other distractions, no?"

A little taken aback by her harsh criticism, and caught off guard by the
question, I rather unwisely confessed that in fact I had had a girlfriend
there. That news did not go down well!

"A... what? Are you fucking serious?" She was clearly angry now and
making no attempt to hide it. I responded as humbly as I could and told
her a little about Helen, though it was clear she didn't really want to hear
it.

"Well, yes. She's a doctor at the clinic where they... you know... fixed me
up. At first she was just a friend, but later we became more than friends.
Her name's Helen, Helen Tathill, and she also happens to be the
granddaughter of Dr Tathill, who I told you was my friend and sponsor
during my last year with Coopervilla."

"Bloody hell dad! What the heck are you saying? That you have a lover
there and her name is Helen? And she's the granddaughter of your
friend? How old does that make her? Shame on you! Shame for cheating
on mum. You're an adulterous, lecherous old bastard! No! Let go! Don't
touch me!" She was shouting now, overcome with anger.

She stood up and moved away from the bench where I remained sitting.
She shook her head and sighed. "What a mess you've made of your life,
dad. And what kind of crap are you going to have for the rest of it? Are
you going to ditch your wife completely? Like an old rag for being too old.
You can have all the girlfriends you want and no doubt you will! But you
won't have a family that love you!"

I stood up and moved towards her, trying to explain... desperately needing

her to listen, but she wouldn't. I wanted to tell her that Helen and I were
over. That we'd fallen out over my relationship with Simon and I hadn't
been able to tell her the truth because she could have told others, with
serious consequences for all involved.

"Oh, Go to hell, dad!" She shouted. "I don't want to hear anymore of this
cloak and dagger story. I'm fed up with all of this. Let go my arm! LET
ME GO! We're going to go pack up our things and then we'll be on our
way. Don't you worry. Nobody will hear anything about this from me.
We'll just pretend to have had a marvellous day, with my newly rich spy
daddy, and that's that!"

With those angry words, she stormed off ahead of me.

Before Jose and Alex joined us, I ran after my enraged daughter, calling
out to her, "Aitana! Listen! I accept what you're saying. You're right to
criticise me and I blame myself for it. But, please remember that I first
got into this mess simply with the desire to improve my health and to
hopefully live a bit longer. And secondly, for the money. I wanted it to be
a Christmas present. It seemed so easy coming from him. From my son!
I was tempted by greed and it seemed like it would be easy money. He
seemed so keep to have me involved that I thought, why not ask? At first
I was almost sure he would refuse my request. But two minutes later he
accepted! It seemed to fit with his plans for me to have the money to
help my family."
"So what?!" she retorted. "You still don't know if your long-term health
will be improved. There's no guarantee you will continue as you are now.
And as far as the money goes, we would have been just fine without it!
Look at you now! You're living parallel lives. You with your English job and
your girlfriends and to hell with your family and responsibilities here in
Spain!"

And that was that. They left. Aitana was clearly angry with me and
refused any physical contact. The others were bewildered as she gave
them no reason for this sudden change in her attitude. Alex was crying
and asking what was the matter while Jose simply looked enquiringly at
his wife, but didn't push the matter. As they drove out of the parking lot,
not one of them turned back to say goodbye. It was then that I realised I
would come to miss many things from my past. I had been old and sick,
but I had been loved.

I'd been looking forward to having a nice day with them, but instead had
confronted the wrath of my daughter. I had so longed for someone to
trust, to be able to talk to about my adventures. I should never have
disclosed anything about my relationship with Helen. That was clear to
me now. How could I have been so stupid? Of course my daughter
wouldn't understand. And why should she? After all, she would always be
loyal to her mother. As a result of that mistake, I realised I had come to
another turning point in my life. Aitana would no doubt influence the
others and, once closed, that door would be difficult to open again. Had I
lost my family completely?

'Girlfriends', Aitana had said. And it was true. I had been dating two
women at the same time. Why had I done that? I hadn't intended to
deceive them in the beginning. I had told Sheila I was expected in
Maidenhead by an old girlfriend, but that the relationship had cooled. She
had seemed to understand and had said with a smile, "Ah... You Latin
lovers!" It all seemed much clearer to me now. Whilst I had thought
myself to be in love with Helen, I think that had had a lot to do with the
fact that I felt I owed her. It had been her who had reawakened my sexual
cravings, which I thought had been gone forever. She was also extremely
beautiful. More so than Sheila to be honest. But there had been moments
when, lying by her side, I had felt as though she were studying me, which
more or less had the effect of a cold shower. When I thought about it, it
seemed likely that Helen had viewed our sexual relationship more as a
commitment than as an act of love. However, my failures had happened
more and more often after meeting Sheila. Ah.. . Sheila. She was so
attractive, with a beautiful, shapely body. And she had no idea of my
background. She had flattered my vanity, complimenting my virility.

What an idiot to have talked about this with Aitana. My outspokenness

had always been my weak spot. Why hadn't I kept it to myself? But, she
wasn't completely blameless either, I reflected. She should have realised
that with the changes my body had gone through, I would need a normal
sex-life. I felt thoroughly depressed and resolved to go to Cadiz at the
earliest opportunity, checking with Isabel first of course. I had to try to
make things right. The problem was that I had no idea how to go about
that.

-------------------------------------------------------
-----

I woke up on Sunday 12th May. I had slept badly after the row with my
daughter, but had set my alarm and got up as planned at 7:00. I had an
orange juice, but nothing to eat and went jobbing along the Camino Verde
I had discovered the day before. It did me good to run for a couple of
hours, breathing in the fresh air. When I got back I had worked up an
appetite, so I had a shower and then made myself a full continental
breakfast. I did miss the full English breakfast, with its kippers, butter and
scrambled eggs, but these thick slices of toasted bread with olive oil were
also delicious. I sat down to watch the news while I ate my breakfast. I
doubted I would hear from the office on a Sunday, so I planned buy a
newspaper and look for some entertainment for the day. I was used to
being alone; I even enjoyed it. I had always believed there was a big
difference between being alone and being lonely. I regretted what had
happened yesterday. Why had I mentioned my relationship with Helen? It
had been naive of me to think Aitana would understand. I couldn't dwell
on it though. It was time to turn the page.

In Hampstead I'd been lucky to make friends so quickly. But here, now,
after coming back from the cinema, and having a few tapas at the
different bars around Plaza Mayor, at nine in the evening, I was facing the
rest of the day alone. It was the first time I really felt lonely. In London it
had been more like an experiment, which had fitted with my adventurous
character. But here I was an outcast. I had never needed to have my
family too close, for I loved my solitude. As long as I knew they were
sufficiently close and well, that was enough for me. Now, however, it was
quite different. I was a stranger in my own land.

I awoke on Monday after another restless night and began the day by
studying the last reports on the flash drive David had given me before I
had left. By now I knew by heart the main players in Spanish politics, as
well as the top executives of the main electrical companies, civil
engineering firms and oil companies.

I assumed they all had mutual interests, alliances and opponents. It was
like an open market of players where each one vied to outsmart the other
beat them to the top for the biggest profits. Some of those people, who I
was reading about again, had been our contacts when working through
the former Madrid Agent, George (JMS), who had mysteriously
disappeared. He had no doubt been working on some cloak and dagger
case. I would have to be very careful when dealing with his contacts.
Simon had said he had resigned due to illness, but I didn't believe that.

That day I expected to be given the details of the arrival of the Paris
agent, Henry, who, they had told me, was quite experienced in dealing
with the oil companies like Total, Repsol, Cepsa, the electricity firms like
Endesa, Iberdrola and EDF, as well as the really big building companies
who, due to their various alliances and great wealth, could control the
politicians on both sides of the Pyrenees.
I had been told that they seldom requested our services as they had their
own intelligence gathering departments. On the rare occasions that they
did need us, it was Simon himself who did provided the service along with
one assistant, David perhaps? From this I deduced that Simon had been
travelling to and from the continent. Under the name of John Wilburn?
And as far as dealing with smaller fish, that would be taken care of by the
company front-men like Henry in Paris and JMS, now me, in Madrid.

I received the first call at 10:00, which was 9:00 in England. Firstly I
received a coded signal to open the laptop. I little green dot appeared in
the top, left-hand corner and I entered my code MVZ********, three letters
and eight digits. And then I began my first webcam chat with David in
London.

The conversation began by checking the quality of the image and sound,
both of which were excellent. After that, he soon came to the point. I was
to expect Henry Dickson's arrival later that same day, at some point in the
early afternoon. He already had his ID for the caretaker and a copy of the
key to the apartment, which I would have to ask him to return to me.
David reminded me that I should check in as soon as Henry arrived
following the usual protocol.

Accordingly, just after 14:00, Mr Dickson gave me a missed call when he

arrived at the gate and another as he entered the lift. I had been told to
expect this so I opened my door to welcome him. They had described his
looks quite accurately. He was a ginger-haired, freckly man of about fifty,
approaching 5', 11" tall and lean. He had a friendly face and a firm
handshake. He showed me his ID card with the SSIA logo.

"Hello Michael. I'm Henry Dickson. How're you? I bet you're happy in this
set up?"

"Come in Henry. Nice to meet you too, and yes I'm very happy with this
apartment. I can't complain! I'm not sure how it came about though,
given Harry's discipline with money! It's only paid-up until 30th
September, so I suppose I'd better not get too used to it. I only arrived
here on Friday and though I was already familiar with Madrid, I don't know
this district well at all."

Henry agreed that it was a lovely apartment and gave me the key card he
had used during his stays here. After that I took a moment to let the
office know he had arrived and we then moved on to discussing his
accommodation arrangements. It was decided that he would stay here
with me and I showed him to the spare room to unpack his things. Of
course, he already knew where everything was, but as the guest he
politely awaited my direction.

"If you're not too tired, once you've unpacked your things, we can go for a
stroll and then find somewhere to eat. I haven't had anything to eat since
breakfast and I'm getting quite hungry. I suppose you know more places
than me in the area. Though, I did find a good restaurant yesterday."

"Yes, very good idea. I am hungry and not tired at all. I'm used to these
trips to and fro. You know, cover the vacancy of the absent Jorge
Martinez. London told me that unfortunately he had to resign due to some
medical problem."

"Yes, I heard the same thing. And how was your trip? With Iberia, or Air
France?"

As I was speaking, Henry put his finger to his lips, signalling me to be

careful and jotted down on a piece of paper: 'mics? Check your mobile is
off'

"With Air France. I flew business class so it was not a bad experience at
all. It's just a little over two hours, but then of course you have to factor
in the time to get to and from the airports. The traffic in Paris is crazy, so
you're looking at another eighty to ninety minutes, then check-in and then
the luggage pickup at this end, which is always painfully slow. I've heard
that soon we'll have a link from Paris to Madrid using the high-speed train
services, AVE, here in Spain, and the French TGV. With that, it should only
take about 5 hours. It would be far more comfortable for me, from Gare
de Lyon to Atocha. It'd save both time and money I expect. Not that we
personally have to pay the costs, but still."

Once Henry had finished unpacking, we put our laptops away safely and
then left the building. Once outside I asked him why he felt we needed to
be careful what we said inside the apartment. Did he really think it was
bugged?

He said that he had always assumed so and thought it better to err on the
side of caution. He had heard from the Rome agent, Sergio Silvany, that
some time ago, quite accidentally, he had discovered, quite by accident,
that there were six hidden mics in his apartment. He assumed they had
been planted by the SSIA. He thought they would've told him had they
wanted him to know, so he did nothing. There was always the chance
they had been planted by someone else though, so he was always
extremely careful not to discuss anything of a sensitive nature whilst in his
apartment.

Henry told me it was widely assumed, by all the SSIA agents, that the
apartments they were 'given' were infested with microphones. He told me
that he had searched his own apartment, but found nothing. He had
passed this information onto Jorge Martinez (JMS), but supposed that he
had not heeded the warning.

"I don't know where he is. As I said before, the story goes that he had to
retire due to illness, but nobody believes that. I suppose that he was
careless. He probably did something to break the rules and was careless
enough to get caught."

I pondered that for a moment, before saying, "I suppose if that's the case,
he must've been working on something pretty serious. I thought we front-
men didn't deal with the really high-up cases. Why would the company
have trusted him with something like that if he wasn't trustworthy? They
do such exhaustive background checks. It's hard to believe they could get
it wrong!"
"Mmm... I've asked myself that same question many times, but I don't
have the answer. He told me he was getting more clients here in Spain
than any other of the agents based elsewhere on the continent. I suppose
he was good at playing the game. Up to a point at least. He was a jester.
He could play the guitar and sing popular songs at the parties he was
invited to. A joker, always making fun of others, and himself too. He used
to call the English 'Limeys' or 'Roast beef'. I don't really know how was he
selected for this job. He didn't seem the type to me. Not serious enough.
I suppose it'll all come out in the end. Anyway, I can see already that
you're not like him and, to be honest, I'm relieved. You seem like a serious
man, and that's important in this job.

I've been instructed to give you my full support and to work with you if
and when you have to meet your first client. That is, of course, for as long
as my own responsibilities allow my absence from Paris. Until London tell
me I'm needed back in Paris, I am entirely at your disposal."

I was wondering who his contact was in London, but he didn't volunteer
the information and I didn't ask. I thought I would test the waters a little.
I wanted him to think I was more naive and clueless than I actually was
and to test his responses, hoping to learn if he could be trusted. To that
end, I revealed to him that my contact in London was David Stansbury.

He looked at me seriously and said, "You are too candid, Michael. Maybe
you shouldn't have told me that straight away."

"OK... Why on Earth not Henry? After all, you've been telling me some
pretty confidential stuff, showing me that you trust me. Are you also
candid? Perhaps you're real purpose in being here is to check up on me?"

"No, no, Michael. It's true that perhaps I have talked too much. But I had
the feeling that you were a little bit lost and I wanted to help... Anyway,
my intentions were good. I haven't been sent to check on you, but simply
to provide assistance as you get used to the job. Show you the ropes, so
to speak. If you wish, we can sweep your apartment for bugs when we
get back. I have a bug-sweeper back in my suitcase. Though, it may turn
up nothing. As I told you, I found nothing in my apartment in Paris."

Henry seemed to be friendly enough and trustworthy, up to a point at

least. We chatted about various inconsequential things. He knew that
part of Madrid better than me, and recommended the Bailen Restaurant.
It was around 15:00 when we sat down in the restaurant and enjoyed a
very good meal, which we charged to the SSIA expense account. Then, on
the way back to the apartment, we talked more about our employer.

One of the things he told me was that he had received some phone calls
from Jorge, prior to his disappearance, using a disposable pre-paid mobile,
and that he had confessed to having made a mistake. He hadn't disclosed
the nature of the mistake, but had said that the company would surely
find out soon, and that he was running out of time to escape from Madrid.
Henry had wished him luck and said goodbye.

"He never told me what kind of error he had made, but I suspect it was a
breach of confidentiality. He had probably decided to cheat one client
against another, in return for a substantial payment of course, which, as
you know, is against company policy. It must've been a tempting amount
of money to persuade him to break his oath to the company. To be caught
for something like that, the consequences would be dire. That's only a
theory of course. Perhaps it was something quite different. Something to
do with being careless in following instructions. You know, once your lead
in London gives you the go ahead to do something, you must follow
through instantly. Hesitation is not tolerated. There can be no excuses.
Follow my advice and take nothing for granted. Whatever Mr Stansbury
may have told you, you must always be on your toes, ready to follow
orders. It's much better to hold off a client for a moment if you have any
doubts about what they're asking and check with London first before
making any rash decisions yourself. We are not hired to make important
decisions ourselves. Merely to follow the orders of our employer. And
don't question those orders.
And we have to be content with what they pay us. The amount is quite
satisfactory after all. I imagine you're getting the same amount as me,
12,000 a month. That, along with the expense account, is not bad at all.
It can be a little depressing at times when you see such huge figures
moving between client accounts and the SSIA. In light of such
transactions it can make our pay seem pretty low. But, that's just the way
it is, don't you think? Perhaps that's what led Jorge astray. Don't go down
the same path as him, Michael. Don't get greedy!"

I listened to his theories with great interest, but wondered, why was he
telling me all this so soon? He hardly knew me!

"And about David Stansbury", he continued, "yes, I know him. And I think
you're lucky to have him as your lead. Despite his youth, it may surprise
you to know that he's a fully-qualified psychologist and therefore an
excellent analyst on people's behaviour, and experienced in dealing with
the contacts you'll have to make. He will instruct you how far to go when
negotiating. But, of course, Michael, you know all about that already from
the training you must've received before being sent here. Often it takes
more than just one meeting for you to build up trust with the client and for
them to disclose what it is they want. Whatever is said at those meetings
should be recorded using your mobile and then transferred to London
where it is analysed before they decide on whatever course of action you
should take."

"Tell me, Henry, how many meetings have you had to cover so far in
Jorge's absence? You must've had your work cut out for you running
things both here and in Paris!"

"Well, yes. I thought they might've given you the rundown on that in
London. No? OK... I'm not sure how many meetings. I think about nine.
But let's check the details when we get back to the apartment and I can
consult my notes. You can take a look at my reports, while I go around
with the bug-sweeper. Thinking about it, if I'm not wrong, it's been nine
clients in four and a half months, six of which led to successful
negotiations and three with results pending, or gone with one of our
competitors."

"Competitors?"

"Oh yes. You didn't imagine we were the only company to supply such as
service did you? There are a few firms like ours offering intelligence
services, and some of them are cheaper than the SSIA. In spite of that
though, I'm told we are the leading company in this field."

So, Henry had covered the Madrid station from January 2015 until the
SSIA could prepare the best possible substitution... And if JMS had stopped
his reports on 20th September 2014, who had been covering Madrid
during the three months until Henry was able to start? Simon perhaps?

"Henry, excuse me for asking but, as you say, better too much than too
little in this job. What I want to know is, do we, the SSIA, also advertise in
the papers? I mean, how is it done?" In fact, David had already told me
this, but I wanted to hear Henry's version.

"Well, it's like this. Whoever requires the kind of confidential information
that we are able to obtain first has to contact the given telephone number.
As to where they get the number? I suppose it's word of mouth. Then, a
recorded voice asks them to leave a message advising them that it will be
answered as soon as possible. The next step takes place at the control
centre in London, where the petitioner's voice, name and the origin of the
call are analysed. If, after our background checks, they are deemed to be
genuine, you will be given their contact information and asked to arrange
a meeting. In my experience, the petitioner is usually a trusted executive,
but not too far up the food chain."

"OK. I see how it works, more or less. Before leaving London I was shown
around the communications centre and I heard the recorded message.
That's pretty much all I know at this point."

"Mm hm. Well, I guess this 'spy' game is all new to you. It's not simple,
but you'll find it's not too difficult either. As I just said, most, if not all, of
the people you'll have to interview, won't be top level management. They
will most likely be representatives sent from the company's lawyers
seeking assurances from us that we will be able to provide the service
they require. Often you won't discover the exact nature of what they
require at the first meeting.

Whether the case goes any further or not is up to you. Basically, you have
to convince them of the quality of the service we can provide, which is
one of unequalled expertise and guaranteed confidentiality. We are not
permitted to speak to any third party of anything that transpires between
us either during our business arrangement or after its conclusion. It's like
attorney-client privilege, to all intents and purposes. In short, SSIA is a
private corporation that specialises in a highly-valued commodity, that of
course being the information we are able to obtain from their competitors
in order to give them an edge in the market. All this is done with total
confidentiality and is of a higher quality than any of our competitors.

All of your meetings will be recorded and the recordings sent to London.
You will also be required to create a written report. And, as you can
imagine, there are all kind of clients. Sometimes they won't mind being
seen with you, an unknown person, and you can meet anywhere you
choose in the centre of Madrid. Other times they'll be more skittish and
require a meeting at a more remote location. The last one, I had to hire a
car to go to Aranjuez. Hotel Jardin I think it was. The chap I met there
made me go up to his room. I was a little reluctant to accept at first, but it
turned out that he was the owner of the company and didn't trust any of
his employees to reach a suitable agreement. He contacted me shortly
after to accept our services."

I seemed to recall seeing something in one of the files before I left London.

"Hang on a minute. That sounds familiar. I think perhaps I saw that he

contacted us to accept and that he paid the deposit. Ernesto Suarez, from
Suarez Systems?"
"That's right. He's an expert engineer, or so he says. Middle-aged and
afraid of being overtaken by the new systems. His firm is currently the
leader in that sector and he doesn't want to lose that status. I suppose he
owns the largest share in his company and drives it with an iron fist. By
the way, do you know Madrid well? I ask, because you'll have to get to
wherever they want to meet and sometimes you won't have much time to
find the place. You'll have to familiarise yourself not just with the centre,
but with the outskirts too. The fastest way to get around it generally by
metro or taxi, but if they place is on the outskirts, I'd recommend going by
car. Do you have one?"

"I do, but it's in Cadiz at the moment. That's where my home is. I'm
planning to go pick it up as soon as possible and, as you know, there's
parking down in the basement here."

"Your predecessor, Jorge, had a nice white Mercedes A200; small but
powerful. He invited me to stay here a few times, promising to take me
out in his 'white beast' to Toledo, or any other place I fancied seeing. He
said he would introduce me to his hot girlfriends. I imagine he spent a lot
of money on things like that; girls, cars, designer clothes. He was like
that!"

As soon as Henry mentioned the car, I knew which one it was. It was my
car! The A200 that Simon had so generously arranged for me to have
back in Seville for the price of 10,000 back in September 2014. It had
been JMS's car!

"Was he by any chance from Seville?" I asked.

"You know, I believe he was. Our paths crossed in Paris once. He'd gone
there on business to meet with a Spanish client who was based there. I'm
almost sure he mentioned Seville. I remember him complaining about the
wet, foggy, Paris weather! He said it wasn't at all like his sunny
hometown, Seville."
"And, sorry to keep coming back to it, but as I said already, they told me
he had to retire due to sickness. What do you suppose happened to him
after he left the SSIA?"

"You know Michael, I can see you're quite green in these matters. Of
course that's what they told you, but, listen. Nobody resigns from this
game. I've heard that once you reach a point where you're no longer
useful, due to old age I suppose, they transfer you to a private residence
where you're well-cared for, but not at liberty to leave."

Could that be the secret wing at Bioclyde? The one that was closed to
visitors?

I drew my attention back to what Henry was saying. "But, if you're found
guilty of breaking your Confidentiality Agreement you could be
neutralised. They can't afford to let you off their leash knowing what you
do about the company and their dealings. But, relax, Michael. I've
already been with the SSIA for five years. I've been on the alert, on my
toes, as the British say, from the very beginning. I'm loyal, honest and
quite content with the money I'm earning plus the expense account. I
have my rent-free apartment in the Latin Quarter, along with a company
car, a BMW 530. I have no reason to betray them! My honest advice to
you is to keep quiet, relax and enjoy life here as it is."

"I really appreciate your sincerity, Henry. I think I will need to ask your
advice from time to time. Et pourqui st que vous portez un nom de
famille anglais? Je pourrais profitter pour parler avec vous a lavenir, in
the future, if you don't mind. I suppose you have a private number, apart
from the company phone?" He said he did and we exchanged numbers.
"Et alors, monsieur Dickson, combien de temp aller vous rester avec moi,
dans cet occasion? Pour profiter de parler en franais avec vous."

Of course, his French was that of a francophone, not like mine, but he was
clearly glad I had made an effort to speak his other language.
"Well", he answered. "My father married my mother just after World War
II. He was an intelligence agent, working for MI6 to uncover collaborators
and Nazi moles. They met because my mother was a school teacher,
who'd been part of the Resistance, and she had records on the Nazi
collaborators which were helpful to my father. They met often, one thing
lead to another and they became lovers and then got married."

Hmmm... If what he said was true, that would make him much older than
he appeared to be!

"Then Henry, forgive me for prying, but, assuming you were born soon
after 1945, that would put you in your seventies, but you seem to be, and
indeed they told me, around fifty. How is that possible? Unless of course
they didn't have you until the mid-nineteen sixties, but your mother
would've been too old to have children. Were you adopted?"

He chuckled and answered, "Indeed. There's no getting anything past

you, is there? I didn't think I could give myself away to easily! The fact is,
I'm sixty-nine years old, and I've gone through some fantastic
treatments."

"Ah." I decided not to reveal anything about my own treatment just yet.
"In Hampstead I think I heard mention of a clinic that specialised in
rejuvenation, lifts, or something like that. Bioclyde? I think the name
was? How long ago did were you there?"

"About five years ago, before I started working for the company. It wasn't
called Bioclyde back then. Somerford Hospital. I was a junior officer for
the Central Directorate of the Judicial Police in France, or DCPJ, and had
been sent to Somerford trying to arrange a deal with the local authorities
and the hospital to extradite one of their patients; a man wanted by the
French authorities. I seemed fit and healthy at the time, but in fact I was
already ill with Leukaemia, and fainted while on duty. I was taken to the
emergency ward and later admitted as an inpatient. My employer, the
DCPJ, sent another negotiator to take over while I underwent treatment.
One of the hospital managers was Dr S. Spencer and he seemed to have
some interest in the escaped man, Jean Druseau, who was seriously ill
with terminal cancer, and, due to the seriousness of his condition,
wouldn't approve his transfer to France. After some negotiations it was
authorised that the man would be kept under local police custody in his
room.

While waiting myself to be well enough to return to France, Dr Spencer

studied my reports and gave me the prognosis, which was, barring some
miracle, terminal. As I was digesting that news, he gave me an
unexpected alternative! He told me they were carrying out procedures,
still in the early stages of development, using stem cells. There was one
snag though. The price! I couldn't afford to pay for it on my salary.
However, I had inherited some vineyards from my parents in La
Bourgogne and I arranged for my lawyer to sell some of them. That went
some way to covering the costs and the rest, Dr Spencer arranged for me
to pay back by working for the Foundation as an intelligence agent. He
felt I would be good for the job due to my experience with the French PJ.
The debt would be deducted monthly from my wages. So... here I am!"

"And you Michael? How is it that you ended up in this line of work?"

"My story is far less interesting than yours, I'm afraid! You could write a
novel about your life! I first met Mr Spencer last September in Seville
while visiting a lawyer to take care of some shipbrokers business in the
port of Cadiz. I overheard that he was having trouble with the Spanish
Home Office and his Spanish wasn't great. As I happened to have some
spare time, I offered to help him resolve the problem and, to show his
thanks, he invited me to join him for lunch. We soon discovered we had
similar views on many subjects. It took three days to completely untangle
the mess with the Spanish government and during that time we got to be
quite good friends. We told each other of the things that were going on in
our lives and, though mine was not particularly interesting, he turned out
to be a geriatric doctor with some other business activities along side.
After that we kept in touch by email. I was pleased to make some
enquiries for him for which he thanked me. And then I had a heart attack.
I was hospitalised in June 2009. When I had recovered enough to be sent
home, I emailed him and told him of my narrow escape. Though I was
more or less OK, some of my arteries had been damaged by the attack
and he told me he thought he could help. He came to Seville to meet me
and escorted me back to England where I was examined to check my
suitability for the procedures. I was accepted but, like you, I couldn't
afford the treatment. Nor could I expect to earn such a sum during the
remainder of my lifetime, even if I lived to be a hundred."

"So, how did you manage it?" asked Henry.

"Well, my wife and I had divorced and I used my half of the proceeds from
the sale of the house to pay a deposit and, with the OK from Simon, I was
allowed to enter the project. So, you see, we are in a similar situation. I
owe a lot of money to the clinic, which I'm repaying by working for SSIA
and, with a monthly deduction of 4,000, it'll take a long time. It's too late
now, but sometimes I think that I made a mistake accepting the
treatment. My health is now much better than before, but my family life
has suffered the consequences."

We had already arrived at the apartment, and with his finger Henry told
me to be careful. Of course I had told him a made up story. I couldn't
disclose the real one, but after he had shared so much of his experience I
felt I had to tell him something. Neither of us mentioned the pills.
Perhaps in his case they weren't necessary. I hadn't seen him taking
anything, but he could of course be doing it in private. He hadn't asked
me anything about my age and I wasn't going to volunteer the
information. In fact, I had decided that if he were to ask me, I would go
with the story that I was fifty-six. After all, I had said the procedures I had
undergone were to fix my heart and had said nothing about any age-
related surgery. He seemed to be trustworthy, but I wasn't going to make
the mistake of revealing too much, too soon.
Together we went through the last of the reports on the flash drive David
had given me before my departure from London. While I read them, he
swept the apartment for bugs. He found five microphones which, whilst
not active at that moment, were fully functional. I supposed they could be
remotely activated at any given moment. He marked the location of each
one with a post-it note.

We continued studying the reports for a while and Henry gave me a lot of
good advice. After about four hours, we decided to take a break and went
out for a walk. The weather was a bit chilly, but nice. At first I didn't say
anything at first, breathing deeply to try to control my feelings. I was
extremely angry and disappointed by what it meant that they felt the
need to spy on me. I had made calls from the apartment! First to Helen
with the company mobile and then the Aitana and Sheila with the pre-paid
one I had bought. Had I said anything I shouldn't have? Henry tried his
best to soothe my anger and fear.

Walking around Plaza Mayor and the adjacent streets relaxed us a lot. We
both enjoyed the walk and the atmosphere. There weren't so many
people around, as it was Monday. Henry said he always loved the Latin
atmosphere here, so different and at the same time so similar to 'Le
Quartier Latin' in Paris. He came here every time he was in Madrid to
enjoy some 'tapas y vino'.

We had several, before eventually sitting down to a formal dinner. With

the good food, excellent wine, and Henry's mischievous jokes, I finally felt
completely relaxed. Neither of us made any further mention of the issue
of the hidden microphones. I'd already been warned by Simon to be
careful what I said, for they could trace my calls from the Head Office and
thinking back, I was pretty sure I hadn't said anything in any of my phone
calls that could cause problems.

The next day, Tuesday, we rehearsed possible scenarios for meetings with
different types of people. We took turns to play the part of the SSIA agent
and the prospective client, switching roles each time. It was a good job
we went through this tuition, for I found some gaps in my instructions
regarding how to deal with certain reactions. We took a break for lunch,
and another for dinner, after which we went for a stroll around the old part
Madrid and chatted about the peculiar nature of our jobs. He encouraged
me not to be nervous about it and to ask for advice whenever needed,
either from himself or from my contact in London, David.

Wednesday morning at 9:30 sharp, Henry's phone rang twice and

stopped. It was the signal for him to switch on his laptop. I let him have
my table in the living room while I went to finish my breakfast in the
kitchen. I'd already finished my ninety-minute jog, about thirty kilometres
along the Via Verde. Henry was surprised I had such stamina for a fifty-six
year old and I explained that it was due to the continuous practice of sport
since I was a young man.

After a short while, Henry came into the kitchen and told me,
"Unfortunately, Michael, I'm needed back in France. There's an important
client in Marseille who wants to see me there, tomorrow at the latest.
Afterwards I have another meeting in Paris, and then it's on to Lyon. Well,
I would've liked to be with you for your first head-on but I'm sure that
you'll manage quite well without me."

I was disappointed, but not surprised and I appreciated that I had had his
company for as long as I had.

"OK, Henry. Thank you for all that you've done. It was very kind of you to
come here and take so much time to show me the ropes. I feel I've learnt
a great deal!" I pointed at the post-its. "When London calls me I shall be
prepared to deal with whatever they throw at me. David will always be on
hand to guide me through with all the particulars on the case, whatever it
may be. As you said, I'm still green but if the past is anything to go by, I
shouldn't have any problems. I've always worked well under pressure and
managed to perform to the best of my abilities."

"Oui, monsieur Michel, Cest a la faon de faire face cette boulot ci."
"Thank you Henry. My French used to be much better than now, but due
to my total English immersion for rather a long time, well, it's not so good
anymore. I hope I'll have the opportunity to practise it when I go to visit
you in Paris in the near future, and you can introduce me to your
girlfriends there! What time will you be leaving? Today or tomorrow
morning?"

"Ah! Sorry to disappoint you, but I only have one girlfriend. My wife.
We've been together for three happy years. I'm looking forward to seeing
her again! I'll be flying with Air France to Orly at 14:45 and no, before you
offer, don't think for a moment about accompanying me to Barajas, for it's
a total mad house there! Just call me a taxi for about 12:00 tomorrow so I
can get there in good time."

We had already exchanged our particulars and Henry had advised me to

do nothing about the hidden microphones. After all, I knew of their
existence and location now and to remove them would have been to send
the company a signal that I was perhaps untrustworthy. It would certainly
have damaging consequences for my relationship with London.

Those three days with Henry had been good for me. The role-play
scenarios we'd practiced had been invaluable. I now had practice at
trying to persuade a nervous client that I was to be trusted with a
sensitive assignment and of giving assurances of the confidentiality of the
service.

Henry had recommended I rent a car locally, saying that the long-term
rates were not too bad. But it would still go against my careful savings
programme. And anyway, I couldn't need it if I had my own car. Simon
had suggested I go to Cadiz at some point to pick it up and it would
certainly be a good idea to have my own transport in case, as Henry had
said, I had to meet some client out of town. I checked with London and,
after receiving the go-ahead, I decided to book my train ticket with Renfe,
the high-speed service, for the following day at 14:00. This would get me
to Cadiz at 21:45.
Just as I was about the complete the online purchase, I stopped. I
suddenly realised how embarrassing the situation was going to be. To
arrive and, almost like a thief in the night, get the keys and leave. No, I
couldn't do that. Perhaps I could send someone else to do it for me? I
picked up the phone to call Aitana for her advice, but thought better of it.
After all, she had left so angrily!

Instead, I decided to call my son-in-law, Jose and ask if he would do me

the favour. This would avoid having to go to my 'home' just to pick up the
keys.

I told him that I had received a visit from a company representative and
that they would not agree to me hiring a car for the job. Instead they
wanted me to use the car they already had and that I had used previously.
I asked Jose if he could travel down to Cadiz by train and drive my car
back to Madrid. I would, of course, pay him the train fare and any other
expenses. "Sure, why not?", he answered.

We agreed that he would go on Saturday and I asked him how Aitana was
doing. Was she still angry with me? He told me she hadn't said what had
happened between us, but that yes, she was still angry. He had broached
the subject with her many times, but she had told him nothing. He said
he supposed she would calm down soon enough.

About half an hour after my phone call with Jose, I received a call from
Aitana. She agreed that I should not go to Cadiz just to pick up the car
and said that if I wanted to go it should be for at least a week. I told her
that was impossible at the moment due to the work I was doing and that I
would prefer to speak to her mother when I had more time and we could
talk seriously and without being rushed.

She called back later to say she had talked with Isabel and told her Jose
would be picking up the car on Saturday and she had agreed to go and
meet him at the train station. So... it was done.
In the end, Aitana told me later, it had been Rachel and Luis that had gone
to pick up Jose at the railway station. "They took mum out to dinner
because she was too depressed to think about cooking! And all that due
to you! Your selfish and idiotic transformation!" I was sad, but not
surprised, to hear that Isabel was feeling so low and also to learn that
Aitana was still very angry with me. We would not be on good terms in a
hurry, it seemed.

As we had arranged, Jose drove my car up from Cadiz and parked it in my

parking space in the garage. It was quite late on Sunday evening. I
settled his expenses and we took a taxi to the train station to have a drink
together and talk things over.

Despite being ignorant of all of the reasons behind Aitana's anger towards
me, she had told him of my infidelity to Isabel. "She's quite right you
know. You're behaviour has been awful." he told me, with obvious
condemnation, though less vehemently than Aitana. Hearing this from
him made me feel terribly guilty all over again, for I had loved my family,
and still did. But there was no reversing what I had done. Perhaps, I
thought bitterly, it would it have been better for all them if I had died!

I sent an email to Aitana, thanking both she and Jose for helping me
resolve the issue with the car and expressing the wish that we could mend
our relationship. I wrote about how the doctors had given me a very bad
prognosis and said that I had no more than five years left and more likely
two or three, even with all the medication I had been taking. "Please,
dear daughter, try to understand. The temptation was too great to resist.
I deeply regret the pain my decision has caused, and as far as it's within
my power to do so, I shall try to make amends. Although my economic
situation is not yet good, at the earliest opportunity I would like to transfer
all my property rights on the house over to mum. She'll be free to sell the
house and either stay in Cadiz or perhaps move closer to you or Rachel.
Despite what you may think, I did try to work things out with mum, but
she couldn't deal with my transformation and the bitterness at what I had
done meant that we could no longer be happy."
She replied, "We've already tried convincing her to come to live near us,
but she refuses. She says she's waiting for you!"

Waiting for me? She had made it quite clear that she didn't want me
around! I called Aitana to tell her as much. "Listen. At the moment it just
isn't possible. For me, this is a new life, whether I like it or not. I can't
turn back the clock! I regret that it has turned out this way, but it is what
it is and I have to get on with things and make the best of it. Believe me
when I tell you, please... I have thought about how I can fix things over
and over again in my head... I've even considered killing myself. At least
then I'd be done with all this!"

At my dramatic declaration, Aitana hung up on me. We didn't speak again

for some time.

Soon after all this, I started meeting with the representatives of various
firms, to whom I was simply Miguel VZ. Thanks, I supposed, to the
guidance I had received from David and Henry, I had no difficulty in
convincing them to accept our services. I dealt with everything smoothly
and soon I had built a reputation for honesty and integrity and had
secured many new clients for our company. They got the information they
required and their payments, in turn, were transferred to a numbered
account. Thus, to all intents and purposes, I was merely a commercial
agent.

The real fight took place after the corporations got the information they
needed. Would they spend more on research and development or
production? Or perhaps invest more money in advertising. More often
than not, it was the latter that was thought more profitable in the long-
run. The information they got from SSIA was worth millions and they
willingly paid it.

During my first two months in this new role, I went back to London three
times, only for short periods. It was always encouraging to hear Simon or
David's flattering comments. As agreed, Harry had cancelled the rent of
the apartment in Hampstead, so I would stay at the Primrose Hotel where I
would once again enjoy the full English breakfast. Each time I called
Helen, but the result was as Simon had anticipated. It was not convenient
at that time for her to travel to meet me. Therefore, though it was not
what I had wanted, our previous relationship and later friendship seemed
to be at an end.

Still, I couldn't feel too down about it as I had Sheila to comfort me! After I
finished my work in the office, I would head hurriedly to the Aberdeen in
the Hampstead Mall to see her. She always greeted me with a friendly
smile and asked me where had I been, and so on. I would have something
to eat and drink and later, if she was available we would go back to her
flat to listen to music and make love. I had kept up with my daily exercise
routine in Madrid, so I still had a lean body with strong arms that clumsily
lifted her in a mock dance. Her body was beautiful to see with her thick,
light brown hair. Her body was hairless and smooth, with streamlined
muscles, a tight bottom and flat belly. I loved watching her practice her
dance steps, naked apart from a pair of tiny knickers. Watching her dance
in the ballroom was nice, but here, in her living room, with her uninhibited
nakedness, playing with a red wig and a clowns nose, telling me jokes in
her Scotch accent that I hardly understood, she was more than charming.
A tigress, she would come and jump on top of me and we'd tickle each
other, making faces that made us laugh at ourselves. It was wonderful,
lying there in her flat, with her on top of me, but it was always over too
quickly. My work would be done and I would have to return to Madrid.

And so, time went on. Autumn followed summer, and everything seemed
to be going well. Simon hadn't mentioned my debt to the Foundation, nor
my private debt to him regarding the car. And obviously I was not going
to bring it up. I was getting used to the meetings with prospective clients.
Some required urgent appointments. Some meetings took place close to
my apartment, and others further away. On occasion I had to take out my
car and go to the outskirts of the city, but generally speaking I would
travel by taxi, which I charged to the company. Despite the fact that the
meetings always ended successfully, I was always a nervous wreck in the
lead-up. I supposed that would dissipate with time.

I had made friends with some people I crossed paths with day after day on
my jogging route. Initially we would just wave at each other and then, as
time went on, we began to stop for a chat. Some of them lived in the
same apartment block that I did and we decided to meet for a drink in the
communal cafeteria downstairs. Later, I was invited to a birthday party in
one of the other apartments where I met even more people and was
persuaded to join the private gym which was down in the basement of one
of the community buildings.

September began with several party invitations in one of the larger

community apartments where I met some interesting people, including
some engaging beauties over forty, mostly divorced or widowed and out
on the prowl. And if they happened to like me, well... I certainly couldn't
refuse! To them, I was a merchant marine technician who had retired
early due to some medical issue.

My future with the pills and the money I owed the Foundation troubled me
more than a little. My savings, now that I had quite a busy social life,
were not increasing, and had to excuse myself from some social
engagements as I could not afford to keep spending so much. Sometimes
I felt troubled by the fear that I could be asked, without warning, to pay
back some or all my debt and that would put a stop to my otherwise easy
life. When I felt that worry creeping up on me, I comforted myself with the
thought that as long as I continued to do my job well, there was really no
reason for them to do that.

It was very easy to get used to that life, and it would have been very easy
to give up my savings plan and indulge further in that opulent lifestyle as,
it seemed, my predecessor had done. Why had he left his post with the
SSIA? Was the sick-leave story true? And if not, what had happened to
him? Had he cheated the company? Where was he now? I had so many
questions floating through my mind, but I couldn't ask anyone. I thought
about him often and he was mentioned from time to time by clients who
had received a good service from Jorge MS, as he was then known.

One client, who wanted an urgent meeting, insisted dealing with Jorge. I
naturally answered that he was recovering from an operation and that it
would be quite impossible to speak with him. No, I didn't have any idea
where he could be reached. He continued to insist but eventually agreed
to accept our services with me as mediator. He placed one condition on
the service though. Ten per cent of the money should be diverted to his
personal account. He also offered me a slice of the money in return for
my discretion and the promise of a faster investigation.

This made it clear to me that Jorge had most likely accepted some offer of
this time and had been found out. This case was the first and most
remarkable one, but later there were more. When such a suggestion was
made, rather than refusing directly, I would simply say, "we'll see." The
meeting would end, with the unspoken assumption that I would consider
the offer and get back to them. I would immediately contact David to
inform him of what had taken place. At the next meeting, which usually
took place the following day, I would promise the client the fastest
possible resolution to their problem, but say firmly that it was impossible
for me to accept any private financial arrangement. At this point, some
would stay and some would leave. Having already informed David of the
situation, there would be no repercussions for me for not having
succeeded in securing the client.

Were these corrupt, unethical people a peculiarity of the Spanish

character? Or was it a general trait of businessmen and politicians
everywhere? Such huge sums of money were changing hands that any
commission on such deals would be extremely tempting were it not for the
knowledge of what could happen were it to be discovered. Is that what
had happened to Jorge? Henry had told me that he'd had expensive
tastes. Had he been discovered and 'neutralised'? This suspicion
strengthened the idea that Simon had chosen me because of our genetic
bond, believing that it would ensure my loyalty to the SSIA.
One day, as I was peacefully rereading a report I had just written, before
sending it to London, the screen suddenly went blank. Bloody hell!
Wretched technology! I was just checking the connections and was about
to reboot the machine when, suddenly, the screen started turning from
black to blue, getting lighter and lighter. I had a sinking feeling in my
stomach. This had happened before! It had been nearly a year since I
had received the first message from Simon, going by the name 'John
Wilburn', in my house in Cadiz. And so I had begun my new, troubled but
exciting existence.

'Por favor no desconecte! Es usted Miguel Velasco ?' (please don't

disconnect. Are you Miguel Velasco?).

I was flabbergasted and for a split second I hesitated. I was about to start
typing a reply, when I realised that this could not be London. Why were
they typing in Spanish? So, this was a fake, an imposter, a hacker! I felt
hot and shaky, but at the same time paralysed with fear... afraid that... all
along... I had been taken in. I had been played with since...

In that moment I resolved to turn off the damn machine and be done with
it, but I must've fainted at the same moment. I fell to the floor, my brain
still working furiously, an unformed phrase on my lips.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART THREE

I don't know how long I was out. Seconds? Minutes? I came to with my
head throbbing, stiff and twisted on the wooden floor. I looked around,
taking in the scene; the upturned office chair; the table legs close to my
face. My position was painful. My head and shoulder ached and my right
arm was twisted, painfully under my body. I moved a little managed to
free my arm. I didn't see any blood but I wasn't sure yet. I got up slowly.
The mad buzzing in my head prevented me from moving more than a few
centimetres at a time. I realised I must have fainted. Finally, I had moved
enough so that I was sitting with my back against one of the table legs. I
touched my face with my left arm. My right was still stiff and a little sore.
Had I broken anything? No, I didn't think so, otherwise the pain would
have been much worse. I sat there for a while, before finally managing to
stand up, holding on with all my strength to the top of the table. The
computer screen was black. I supposed I had switched it off. That had
been what I was intending to do when I fainted.

What the hell had happened? I had to think. I walked, staggeringly to the
bathroom, stepping carefully like an old man, or someone who had
suffered a heavy blow. I reached the bathroom, and looked at myself in
the mirror, half expecting to see the reflection of the seventy-seven year-
old man I knew so well. But NO. I saw the new Michael of fifty-five,
looking extremely pale face and frightened. Even my hair was standing
up on end. I had always thought that to be a myth. Hair couldn't really
stand up on end! But, now I saw, that it could!

I spent a long time washing my face, wiping with both hands and rubbing
my eyes. I thought that perhaps a shower would do me good, but I was
afraid of fainting again. Instead, I went back to the living room, poured
myself a double whisky and drank it neat, sitting on the sofa. It didn't
improve the buzzing in my head, but somehow I felt better. I began to
think more clearly. To remember. I'd been reaching out my hand,
standing up a little from the armchair to reach the on / off switch. At that
point I must've fainted, keeled over and hit the floor. I was lucky I hadn't
hit anything sharp in the fall. I was sure now. It hadn't been a dream, or
rather a nightmare. It had been true. I watched the device with
apprehension. I thought I'd better call London right away to tell them
what had happened. Some hacker had invaded my system!

Simon would know what I meant. After all... he himself had contacted me
that way in the beginning. It was 17:00. I picked up the company iPhone
and dialled the emergency code, which would direct me straight through
to Simon. No reply. I hung up and punched in the code for David
Stansbury. After two rings, he answered. I told him, as briefly as possible,
what had happened, not mentioning having fainted. Straight away he told
me not to touch the laptop. Close it, put in its case and wait for him to
contact Mr Spencer. He hung up and I waited. Fifteen minutes later he
called back telling me to go directly to a travel agent and get a ticket on
the next possible flight to London.

I changed my clothes, checked my wallet, my cards and my keys and went

to the lift. It was only about 500 meters from the ground floor to the
nearest travel agency, on the Teatro Real. My legs were still weak so it
took me a little longer than usual to get there. There was a sign on the
door saying that it was closed due to refurbishment and had transferred
provisionally to Calle Mayor, 51. I was tempted to go into a bar and get a
coffee, just to be able to sit down, but I didn't want to waste time. I
continued, slowly. I probably looked like a drunk, stumbling along the
pavement! It was almost 18:00 by the time I reached the travel agent.

The only flight that day was fully-booked, so I would have to wait until the
morning at 8:00. I bought an open return and paid with the company
credit card. As I was turning to leave, the girl asked me, "Are you quite all
right sir? You're looking rather pale and..."

"Yes, I know. I came here running, you see. I went to the other place and
it was shut and I was in a hurry, and yes, I'm not feeling well, or as well as
usual anyway, because I fell down at home, in the bathroom."

I don't know why I told her that!

"Do you want me to call a taxi for you, sir? Or if you wish, you can sit
down here for a while until you feel better."

"No, no, thank you Miss. That's very kind of you, but I'll just sit down
somewhere to have a drink and rest a little bit."

And that's what I did. I found a nice, quiet bar/restaurant, sat down and
asked for a beer and some nuts and olives. As I sat there, munching on
my favourite snack, I thought about the unlikelihood that any hacker
would be able to get through the ultra-high security of the SSIA. I thought
about the fact that I had fainted. Why? I was apparently in very good
health. I knew I should tell London, but I was afraid they would think me
weak and I would lose my position. Be 'put out to pasture', so to speak.
Weakness or inefficiency would not be tolerated, Henry had told me.

Sitting there on that terrace watching the cheerful looking crowds going
about their business, I began to feel myself again. The beer and the
snack had sorted me out, but just in case, I decided to give myself more
time before heading back, and decided to have dinner there. The food
smelt so appetising and I was not disappointed.

Afterwards, I walked around Plaza Mayor feeling more or less normal,

though apprehensive about what to expect tomorrow in the office. I
thought more about whether I should tell Simon that the interference had
been very similar to what I had experienced when he had contacted me
back in September 2014. But my computer then had been a simple PC.
How could someone have overrun the firewalls installed by the SSIA. And
how was it that the text that had appeared on my screen had been so
similar. Almost word for word. Before in English, today in Spanish! Would
it be wise to tell him that I had fainted when trying to switch off the
laptop? Or better to say nothing? Would they ask me?

With these thoughts running through my mind, I slept very little. I got up
at 6:00, shaved and showered, drank a fruit juice and a coffee and then
called a taxi for 6:30 to take me to the airport. The road was clear and I
arrived at Barajas with plenty of time to check-in and get to the gate. I
even had time for another cup of coffee and a buttered croissant.

The flight arrived on time and, as I was travelling light, I didn't have to
wait at the baggage reclaim. Being an EU citizen, it wasn't necessary to
go through immigration and I wasn't stopped by customs. I took a taxi to
Hampstead and was at the office before 10:00. The caretaker, Lionel,
directed me towards the lift to go straight up to the second floor. They
were obviously expecting me.

He must've advised David of my arrival, as he was waiting for me when I

got out of the lift. He greeted me warmly and we went into his office.
When we were both sitting down, I repeated what I had told him over the
phone. The computer screen going dark, the question in Spanish, my
shock at what was happening and standing up to turn off the machine.

But, what happened afterwards? Did you switch it off and that was all?"

"Well, yes and no. I was in shock, dumbstruck, and my head was
banging. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking very clearly. I phoned Mr Spencer
first, but he didn't pick up. I seemed to be doing everything in slow
motion."

"Yes, that's quite understandable. Apart from the banging in your head,
did you feel OK?"

"Not particularly. I was lucky to sit down and not fall down!"

"But, you didn't faint?"

"Not exactly. I felt dizzy and as I said, I might've fallen if I hadn't had the
chair to sit down on and hold onto."

"Well... you were lucky then. Other agents have had worse experiences
than yours!"

That was news to me! I had a horrible feeling now that I should've told
the truth about fainting.

"OK, listen. In a moment Mr Spencer will call you to his office and you'll
have to repeat this all to him. You look a bit pale. Are you all right?
Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please. I'm just tired. I had a late night and then got up very early,
that's all."

As I drank my tea, he told me that eight other field agents would be

coming to attend a meeting. My laptop sat on a low table at David's side,
and I asked him, "What are you going to do with it?"
"Well, first of all, we have to work out the exact timing of the breach and
that will help us to evaluate the level of harm it may have caused us."

At that moment Simon called me to his office. I quickly finished my tea

and crossed the hall to see him. He was angry and alarmed by this breach
of security and it didn't seem the time to remind him that he had done a
similar thing himself in the past. I doubt his reaction would have been
favourable!

"Look, Michael. Are you sure you didn't pass out? Or feel like fainting?
Do you actually remember reaching out and switching off the computer?
And, if not, can you tell me how many seconds the computer was active
for before you were able to disconnect it?"

"As I told David just now, I can't say the exact time that elapsed between
one thing and the other. I felt very dizzy after the effort of stretching out
to switch off the laptop. It started similar to... you know... first the screen
went black, then blue, then the blipping cursor, the startling questions in
Spanish. I was going to answer, 'Who are you? What do you want?' I
didn't realise, really I didn't, that I should switch off immediately. And I
was sort of frozen. In shock! It may've been around fifteen - twenty
seconds from when the screen first went black to when I was able to
switch it off. No doubt the technicians will be able to tell you exactly.
Won't they?"

"I hope so, Michael. I do hope so, for this matter could be very important
for our future. BUT, I really must know. Who cut it off? Was it you? Or
was it just cut off automatically?"

"I don't know. I was shocked. I'm afraid I don't remember clearly. I rested
for a while, went to the toilet, and then called you. I realise it was an error
in protocol to call you before David, but my gut told me to do so. And
then, when you didn't pick up, I call David."

He asked me more questions, and I did my best to answer them.

Stubbornness would not allow me to admit I had fainted. I couldn't go
back on my story now. I wished I'd been honest in the first place. Stupid
vanity!

"At 12:00 we're having an urgent meeting", continued Simon. "The

agents from France, Italy and Portugal are already here. You spoke to
David at 17:00 Spanish time, when he told you to come here urgently.
Why did it take you so long to get here? You should've come last night."

"I did try to come last night, but all the flights were fully booked. And, as
I've said, I was in shock! It took me over an hour to recover. I admit that
my physical and mental reaction was clumsy, but I did the best I could.
Also, David told me not to touch the computer, so I had to go to the travel
agent and they'd switched premises due to refurbishment so I had to go
even further to find them."

"You know, you could've used your iPhone to book the flight. Though
perhaps they would have already been fully-booked anyway."

"I suppose I could have. But, I honestly didn't think of that. As I said, my
nerves were completely frazzled!"

Thankfully he seemed to accept my reasons and didn't press me further.

At 12:00 we went into the boardroom to meet with the other agents. I
was glad to see Henry there. We'd been in touch several times by phone
since his short stay in Madrid when he'd helped me to learn the ropes.
We'd become quite good friends and I valued his advice. During the
meeting, chaired by Mr Spencer, flanked on either side by David and
William, he asked us in turn to explain our last contacts and acquisitions.
This seemed rather unnecessary, as we were all required to send daily
reports of our activities with clients anyway. I learnt that the most active
station was France (Henry), followed by Italy (Sergio Silvany) then Spain
and then Portugal (Da Silva).

Afterwards, Mr Spencer spoke. "Let's face it, gentlemen. We have

suffered an invasion by some enemy trying to break our defences. All of
you experienced a breach of security on your laptops which took place at
precisely the same time, 14:58 GMT. At this point, we do not know who is
responsible. We don't yet know the extent of the damage which may
have been done, but I can assure you that we are working on it and that
they will be discovered."

He then handed over to David who talked about the difficulties for any
enemy trying to penetrate our systems.

After about twenty minutes, Mr Spencer stopped the meeting and a called
in some catering staff to lay the table for lunch. We went out into the hall
to stretch our legs and after about ten minutes we were called back into
the room. A buffet had been prepared and Simon told us we had about
forty minutes for lunch, after which time the catering staff would clear the
table and we would have another ten minutes to stretch our legs. Simon
left, presumable to go to his office and eat in private, no doubt something
of higher quality than we had been served here. The food was far from
good, but served to fill the gap.

Henry and I made small talk, knowing everything was being recorded. He
slipped me a piece of paper, warning me to be careful about what I said. I
nodded and jotted down a quick reply: 'Farmer's Gate pub.' He nodded
and slipped the piece of paper back into his pocket. We went on chatting
about trivial things and, before long, it was time for the meeting to
resume.

Mr Spencer began by asking the first agent on his left when and how his
computer had started to act funny, and what happened had afterwards.
All the other agents were asked the same questions and every single one
declared having fainted when trying to switch off the laptop, and to having
recovered perhaps fifteen to twenty seconds later. At least it seemed as
though the intruder had only had a few seconds to copy from our hard
disks, had they managed to get through the last line of defence.

While we were talking, the technicians in the Operations Centre were

checking all the hard disks and motherboards to try to figure out exactly
what had been done.
"Some of you have been reluctant to confess having fainted, no doubt
afraid we would withdraw you from duty." It seemed they had all lied at
first, but eventually admitted the truth. All except me. "By not speaking
the truth in the beginning, you have wasted our time. Lies are not
tolerated in this job, and there will be consequences!"

He paused to let that sink in, before continuing, "Well gentlemen. Please
wait here a while longer. Mr Da Silva, I'd like a word with you privately.
Come with me, please."

All the agents were called, one by one and did not return afterwards.
Soon only Henry and I were left and when it was his turn he nodded at me,
letting me know he would see me later in the pub. I was left alone for
some time. I didn't know if Henry had left or was still there for they were
using another door to go out. For what seemed like an interminably long
term, but was in reality about fifteen minutes, I paced around the room
nervously. Though I was dead-tired, I couldn't stop. Sitting, standing,
pacing, sitting, standing, pacing...

Finally, it was my turn. I went into Simon's office to face him sitting
behind his large desk. He was looking at me sternly. I could see that,
despite the fact that we were alone, he was not Simon now. He was just
the boss, and if it was true what Henry had implied...My God!

"On my orders, Michael, yours was the last computer to be checked and,
as expected, you were quite unable to switch it off by yourself because
you also fainted. It was disconnected automatically by the same signal
that sent an electric shock through the device, causing all who touched it
to faint. Your reluctance to tell the truth about this concerned me greatly.
You see, if it were true and you hadn't fainted, that could mean you had
answered their request for a chat and had kept the line open, allowing
them precious time to copy our software.

All activity is time-stamped and the gaps can be read. They all match. All
except one, that is. And it was not yours. We know who the collaborator
is, but for the moment he doesn't know that we're on to him. It's our plan
to gather more evidence before we approach him. When we have what
we need we'll be sending someone to persuade him to assist us in
mounting a counterattack. The enemy will be neutralised."

And what of the agent? I wondered.

"Your counterparts are all flying out to their respective posts within the
next few hours but I need you here for a couple of days to settle a few
things. In the meantime you'll stay at the Primrose and await our call.
Perhaps you can take this opportunity to catch up with your friends. OK?"

"Look, Simon, I'm sure you must understand the reason for my reluctance,
and this intrusion was so similar to what happened last year when..."

He was shaking his head no, and promptly cut me off.

"Unless you hear from us before, please come back tomorrow at 9:00.
You'll meet with David to discuss things. Then, most likely you'll be vetted
once again and given a new laptop with enhanced security. I can see
you're tired and stressed. As you can imagine, I'm in a similar state. I've
been on high alert for the last twenty-four hours and quite frankly, I'm
exhausted.

I nodded my agreement and took my leave. It was clear that he didn't

wish to talk about how he had contacted me the first time and I thought it
better not to push the matter. I took the lift down to the ground floor and
set off on foot towards the Primrose Hotel.

I felt quite unsettled and kept looking around and checking behind me to
make sure I wasn't being followed. When I was sure there was no-one
behind me, I changed course and went to the pub where I was to meet
Henry. I thought he might have already left for the airport. No, there he
was. He was sitting facing the door and waved to me as I entered. I got a
beer and then joined him at his table.

"Honestly, Michael, I don't understand how you managed to keep hold of

yourself after touching the computer. I was knocked clean out!"
I sighed and decided to tell him the truth. "You know Henry, I lied about
that. To both David and Mr Spencer. Although he didn't say anything at
the meeting, he knew I was lying and gave me some rather pointed looks.
He left me until last to be interviewed and he told me he knew the truth. I
don't know why I persisted in lying. Initially I was afraid of losing my job,
but afterwards... I don't know. Stubbornness I guess. I'd gone too far and
it would've been embarrassing to change my story after so vehemently
denying it to begin with. I was out for about 20 seconds I guess. The
same as everyone else. When I recovered, the laptop had switched itself
off."

"Ah... You know, I think we all denied it all first. No doubt for the same
reasons."

"Mr Spencer told me that the technicians found a discrepancy in one of

the laptops. I don't know the details, but I believe they think they have a
mole. Perhaps one of us has been selling confidential information to the
competition!"

"Hmmm... well... I don't know what to think, Michael. I can't imagine who
it might be. I don't know if we'll have a chance to see each other again,
but I have to tell you that, right now, I'm extremely worried! I may not
look it, but I'm afraid."

"Afraid? Why should you be afraid Henry?"

He sighed and answered, "You see, they've had me by the balls for some
time now and I can't see any way out."

So... it looked as if my suspicions were right. All the SSIA agents were
somehow being blackmailed. I didn't mention this to Henry, but said
"Well, it's clear that the company makes a lot of money dealing with
intelligence. And I suppose we could all use more money, but I can
assure you, Henry, the double agent isn't me! Do they have any reason to
suspect it's you? Is that why you're so worried?"

"No, no. Not me." he said, shaking his head.

"Then what is it that has you so worried?"

"Well. You know... I wasn't going to say anything about this, but we're
friends... Will you give me your word that this conversation will stay
between us?"

"Of course, Henry. You can be sure of that."

He looked relieved and continued. "You see, I have a friend in Paris who's
one of the biggest wine dealers in Europe. He often does business with
companies in Seville and Cadiz. Well, I asked him, as a favour, to hire
someone down there to do some digging on Jorge Martinez Suarez (JMS),
which he did and, being an honest guy, he got back to me quickly with the
results. It turns out that Jorge has a wife and a little girl in Cadiz. The PI
spoke with her and she told him that he sends her 850 a month, barely
enough to keep her going, and that she just about scrapes by doing
cleaning jobs. Before, when Jorge was working in Madrid, though they
were separated, he sent her over 2,000 a month. Therefore, we have to
conclude, that Jorge's alive and well somewhere. His wife thinks he's
probably in England, 'living with some English whore!' Her words, not
mine. I doubt it though. I expect he's either working in the office in some
low capacity, or, more likely, he's been neutralised and the company
continues to make these payments to his wife in order not to arouse
suspicions. She is still legally his wife and I suppose that as long as she's
receiving the money, she has no choice but to resign herself to his
disappearance."

This rang a little too close to home for me. I had also left a wife and
home.

"While that's very interesting Henry, it doesn't explain why you should be
so worried!"

"I'm getting to that. You see, I think that Mr Spencer suspects me of

collaborating with two of the SSIAs biggest clients. The firms are now in
the process of becoming allies. Anyway, I didn't do what they suspect me
of, I assure you. They have become quite high-strung recently owing to
an increase in the competition. But, I'm sure you can understand my
concern, given my suspicions about what happened to Jorge.

Anyway. I know you have some friends here, but my advice is to go to a

hotel and get some rest. Now, dear friend, I must hurry up for my flight to
Paris leaves at 20:15."

"OK, Henry. I can well understand your worries, but I'm sure that if, as you
say, you've done nothing wrong, you will be cleared and everything will
turn out well."

"Thank you, Michael. Take care."

We shook hands and Henry, an unexpectedly frightened Henry, left to take

a taxi to the airport.

I ordered another beer and a double cheese and tomato sandwich.

Despite all the stress I was bearing, I knew I had to eat something and I
was supposed to take the pills with food. After that, I followed Henry's
advice and went to the hotel where I stayed until morning, neither seeing
nor calling anyone.

The next morning I headed back to the office, where Lionel was waiting
with instructions to send me straight up to the second floor to see David.

"Good morning, Michael. How are you?"

I told him I was fine and we briefly discussed yesterday's meeting. He

seemed in much better spirits than the previous day, which I took as a
good sign.

"You're completely in the clear, Michael. I and my fellow technicians have

been examining the evidence and it is now quite clear that the enemy has
a mole within our organisation. Your background check has been
repeated, as Mr Spencer told you it would be, and we are confident that
you are to be trusted. In a few moments you'll be provided with a brand
new laptop with the latest security software.
Around 10:00, Mr Spencer arrived and invited us into his office and we sat
down at the side table. I took this as another good sign, as it was less
formal than his large mahogany desk. He seemed more relaxed than
yesterday and greeted me warmly enough.

"Well Michael, as David here must have explained to you, we've found
that your computer was broken into at exactly 14:58 the day before
yesterday. As with the other laptops, an alarm was tripped activating a
security mechanism within the laptop. This mechanism acts by sending
an electric current through the power button, meaning that when the user
tries to disable the computer, they are momentarily knocked unconscious.
This provides an airtight alibi and shows us that instead of collaborating
with the hacker, you attempted to disable the machine and thus protect
the company.

Your colleagues have all returned to their stations and you will all be
followed more closely from now on. And now, David, if you dont mind, I'd
like to talk with Michael in private."

David left, closing the door behind him and Simon continued, "You really
shouldn't have lied to us about fainting, Michael. I do, however, accept
your reasons, and I think it would be best for both of us if we just put this
incident behind us. Now, you and I have more in common than you
realise. We're both taking the pills prescribed by Dr Hilmarton."

I was relieved to hear that there would be no more mention of my screw-

up, but quite shocked at his revelation that he was also taking the pills! I
had suspected that he might be in the beginning, but had later dismissed
the idea, as he had undergone treatment over five years before. This was
disturbing news indeed.

"I thought the course was for two years? Are you really still taking them?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Remember I told you I went through the project, to
level two, the same as you? I was fifty-two, but after the treatment,
looked to be only forty. I have to take the pills until next April. Another
seven months. At that point I'll have to decide whether to continue taking
them, just in case, or to wait and see if I suffer any ill effects as a result of
stopping. I'm told that I could stop for up to two months without doing
permanent damage. If I started to show signs of degeneration, I would
have to have a revision done. It wouldn't be either dangerous or painful,
but would involve a stay at the clinic for some time. And I'm afraid to
leave the management to... I mean, I have to be at the helm of the ship. I
am in charge and the task is not easy to delegate."

"Well, Simon, first let me say that I'm glad I passed the test and I'm sorry
that I lied with respect to fainting. And, regarding the management here,
couldn't Harry run things for you if you have to go back to the clinic?"

"Yes, in theory. He is sufficiently prepared. But somehow I don't trust him

enough. David and the other members of the executive team, John and
William, are of the same opinion."

Harry not trusted?! This was a surprise! As Simon seemed to be opening

up to me, I decided to take the opportunity to discuss my concerns with
him about my future with the company.

"One thing that I wanted to talk with you about, Simon, is that despite the
fact that I seem to be doing the job successfully, I don't feel that I'm really
suited to this type of work long-term. Besides feeling horribly nervous
before all my meetings, I can now compare myself to my counterparts.
They are all younger, taller, more handsome, and I suppose in general,
better-prepared and more daring than me. You must admit that they are
better suited than me to the job of SSIA agent. I wish you would consider
releasing me from my contract."

"That, Michael, cannot be done! You disappoint me! For one thing, from a
practical point of view, you would have to pay back the 200,000 pounds
that I lent you, plus the 10,000 for the car, and the same again for
expenses. You wouldn't have the means to save that amount even if you
lived for another twenty years. And, if I'm not mistaken, you started
taking the pills, in September 2014, and they only gave you a twelve-
month supply. Therefore, in two months you will have to request another
twelve-month supply from Dr Hilmarton! I think you would find that if you
left your post here, he would not be amenable to filling your prescription.

And regarding your work, Michael, I've seen your reports, your work, and
the positive reactions of the clients you've dealt with who, thanks to you,
have contracted our services. I'm 100% sure , that all you have is a big
inferiority complex."

"That may be true, but what I don't like is being tied up like this for an
unlimited time. It's basically slavery!"

"How much have you managed to save so far?"

"Well, not much. I only have about 50,000 with Barclays and about
10,000 with La Caixa. I checked with Harry about changing to a cheaper
apartment, which he recommended I do in September when the rent runs
out. It seemed possible to begin with, but after much searching, it seems
there's nothing cheaper than 2,200 if I am to remain in the same district
which I understand is what the company wants. As I'm sure you know,
Madrid is one hell of an expensive place to live. I know that you pay all
your agents the same amount, but the cost of living is not the same in
Lisbon or Warsaw as it is in Paris or Madrid, is it? Also, I understand that
the other agents are given their apartments rent-free, along with the
company car!"

"I don't know who told you that, but all our agents are dealt with fairly, I
assure you. OK, I'll call Harry and get him to give the OK to the accounts
department to cover the rent. I do agree that it's better to stay where you
are at the moment. The exclusive address helps to generate the type of
image that the company wishes to project. No doubt he'll grumble a little,
but he'll do as I ask. Does that help?"

"Yes, thank you Simon."

"I suppose it was Henry Dickson who told you the apartments were free?
And, let me tell you, you shouldn't put too much faith in what he tells you
about me, or about the SSIA. Without going into detail, I can tell you that
his honesty regarding some of his most recent dealings in France is under
suspicion."

"Well, I must say, I'm very disappointed to hear that. In the four days we
spent together in Madrid, we connected quite well. I sincerely hope this
turns out to be a mistake. You know, he gave me some invaluable advice
which helped me a lot during my first months of service. Anyway, he
seemed to me to be a nice person, and I considered him to be my friend.

All the same, Simon, and I guess I probably shouldn't say this, but, though
you're a hardened businessman, I must remind you of the promise you
made to your mother, Sabrina, to find your father and look after him."
Was this emotional blackmail? Well... if so, it was deserved! "I know I
have to be grateful for what you did with my, shall we say, 'physical tune-
up', but the consequences for my family life have been disastrous. And
now I find myself, by my own fault I realise, quite pinned down what with
the money and the pills. And honestly Simon, all this troubles me greatly.
The commitment is far greater than I originally understood. Anyhow... I
am asking you, begging you, as my son, to release me as soon as
possible, so that I can try to get on with my life as before, a retired family
man."

Simon had been listening intently, without interruption. He now said, "Yes,
that's all true, but it wasn't done on purpose. Sometimes life just turns
out the way it does, and there's nothing you can do about it. It was never
my intention to make life difficult for you. And bear in mind too, Michael,
that if you weren't my father and you spoke to me in this way, you would
be disposed of like a bag of rubbish. You make me quite angry with your
constant complaining. And frankly, I don't understand it! Don't you
remember what Dr Fowler said to you? Without our intervention you
would've had only a few years left! Now you could have another twenty!
Life is precious! It is the most valuable asset you have. And... because
you are my father, and again, because I promised my mother I would look
after you, I am giving you a further present... wait a moment,... yes... let
me take out this bloody contract of yours."

What he did next surprised me greatly. He actually took out the contract
and tore it to pieces in front of me!

"You can do the same with your copy, wherever you keep it! So... the debt
is cancelled. And the car is yours! The company will go on paying the
rent for your apartment in Madrid. Doubtless you're asking yourself why
I'm doing this? Well... let me tell you! Because I want to! What you said
before was right. I was going to do it all the time, so... there you have it.
It's done!"

I couldn't believe it! I never expected him to take such a dramatic u-turn!
My throat felt quite dry and I asked for a glass of water.

"Help yourself. There's a jug of water and some glasses over there on the
chest of drawers. Bring one for me too, please. By the way, believe it or
not, I was going to invite you to have lunch with me, but since we've had
this unpleasant disagreement, I think I'd rather not. I doubt either one of
us is in the mood to make small-talk over a meal. Go and see David about
your new computer.

And, one more thing before you leave, Michael. I wish to remind you that
you have here in England a grandson and a granddaughter. Your
grandson, Andrew, has two children that happen to be your great-
grandchildren, and your granddaughter, Elisabeth, is expecting next
December. I mention this so that you can have a think about it and
perhaps decide to come and meet them next time you're back in
England."

"Hell, Simon! You always have a way of shaking me up! Of course I'd like
to see my family here. But as you just said, I don't particularly feel like
continuing our conversation any more, for the time being. I hadn't
thought about it before, but now that you bring it up... this whole family
matter makes me feel a bit funny. I suppose that's not surprising as,
whatever our differences, we are family and that makes your family my
family too. I'm sure this'll all settle down gradually and I'll get used to the
idea. It does feel odd to me though, to have two families at the same
time. Of course I'd like to get to know them some day. But, as you say,
now is not the time. I'll go and see David, as you suggested, and then be
on my way."

He wished me a good journey and we parted ways, quite cordially despite

our disagreement. I went to see David and he had his friendly face on,
greeting me warmly. He gave me the new computer and explained the
new apps and the encryption system. He then went over the protocols
again for contacting London and told me that, should I wish to get in touch
with another station, I would need to first obtain clearance from the
London office. After he was finished explaining all this, I asked him, "Have
you managed to trace the origin of the mishap... of the alarm that brought
all the agents here?"

"Well, yes, actually we did. Counter-attacked and neutralized. They were

able to breach our security due to a mole in our organisation."

"Was that Henry Dickson, in Paris?" I'd been debating whether or not to
ask, but I had to know! His reply relieved me greatly!

"No, no, I'm happy to say that it wasn't him. I'm not authorised, however,
to tell you who it was. I don't know whether you're aware of it, but we
have more agents than the ones you saw yesterday. But the leak was
traced to have come from Europe. I cannot tell you more. I understand
that you'll be leaving today, so you'll need to go see Mr Stuart. You can
take the stairs down now. He's expecting you."

So, I went to see Harry who, after the formal greetings, told me he was
happy that I had been cleared of any wrongdoing and welcomed me back
to the team. He then told me that he had been advised by Mr Spencer
that I had been raised to an 'A' Officer with a high level security clearance.
He told me this rather grudgingly and it was clear that he was not happy
about it! "That is the same as me after fifteen years. You will continue to
enjoy the nice apartment you have in Madrid, along with the expense
account, but your monthly salary will increase to 15,000. All this should
remain private between you and me, and Mr Spencer of course. He says
he knows you're worth it. I sincerely don't see why but, let us hope he's
right!"

He gave me a business class ticket for a flight later that afternoon at

16:20 from Heathrow and reminded me to follow the usual protocol upon
my arrival in Spain. "Jerry will pick you up here at 13:00. Meanwhile, as
it's only 11:00, you can go out to do some shopping, or wait here in the
hall, or, now that you are an 'A' colleague, you can go downstairs to the
basement with Jerry to see operations as the messages come in, get
decoded and then despatched."

I could see that Harry was making some effort to be friendly, though it
was clearly difficult for him. I could well understand that to him this would
seem very unfair. The Spanish upstart newcomer on the same level as
him after just a matter of months! Still, that was not my problem and I
was very happy about the salary increase!

I didn't have time to see Sheila. It was nearly noon and I had only one
hour till Jerry would pick me up. Instead, I phoned her for a chat before I
left the office. I told her that my meeting had just finished and that I was
stretching my legs on the heath for half an hour before my flight. I told
her of my promotion and said that as a result I expected to be in London
more often and would also probably be able to invite her to Madrid for a
holiday. She congratulated me warmly and was sincerely happy at the
prospect of a holiday in Madrid. We said goodbye for the moment and she
advised me to go for a quick jog to relax.

She was right. I needed to breathe some fresh air and exercise my tired
body after such a taxing talk with Simon and then a fairly heavy technical
discussion with David. I waved goodbye to Lionel and told him I'd be back
by 13:00 to meet Jerry. I walked up towards the Primrose Hotel enjoying
watching all the people. The streets were busy for a Friday morning. As I
approached my favourite pub, 'The Farmer's Gate', I was tempted and
though it was still quite early for a beer, I decided to pop in for one. Why
not? It was after midday and therefore socially acceptable to drink, and I
had a lot to celebrate! The cancelling of my debt to the Foundation! Also,
it was not easy to find beer like this in Spain! I ordered a Guinness which
calmed my stomach and made me feel quite refreshed. I chatted a while
with the barmaid and she served me a piece of my favourite steak and
kidney pie, "on the house"! Just after 12:30, I left the pub and headed
back towards the office to meet Jerry. The car was already waiting for me,
though it was George, the office driver, at the wheel, rather than Jerry. He
had already picked up my suitcase from the Primrose Hotel and Jerry had
given him my briefcase, with my new laptop inside. He was indeed highly
trusted by all the staff.

"Mr Horst (Jerry), excuses himself as he was busy attending to some

matters with Mr Spencer, so he called me to go find you to the hotel and if
you weren't there to pick up your luggage and meet you here at 13:00.
Your luggage is in the boot with your overcoat in a big bag."

I thanked him and got into the back. He was very chatty, but I wasn't
feeling very talkative myself, being a bit drowsy after the beer, plus the
lack of sleep due to the stress of the last few days! The journey passed
quickly enough and when we arrived, George helped me with my luggage
as far as the check-in desk, before saying goodbye and wishing me a
pleasant flight. We shook hands and I went off to the VIP lounge to wait
for my flight to be called.

Everything went according to schedule and I arrived in Madrid at around

20:00. From Barajas airport, I took a taxi to Apartamentos Plaza, not
getting home until 21:15 due to the usual Madrid traffic jams. I stripped
off my overcoat, took out my new laptop and went through the usual steps
to confirm my arrival with London and signed off in the usual way,
MVZ********.
It wasn't long after the whole upheaval with the hacker that my work
commitments resumed. I received a signal from London advising me to
get in touch with one Arturo Fernandez. He turned out to be a friendly
guy, who requested that we meet that same day at the Eurobuilding Hotel
bar at 19:00. He would be wearing a dark-blue jacket with white trousers
and a dark-blue tie and I would wear a dark-grey suit and red tie. I
introduced myself as Felix, representing an agency in London that could
most likely be of assistance to his company and we sat down together to
talk. He turned out to be nervous sort of man, fortyish, smiling a lot, and
looking furtively from side to side as if he weren't quite sure what he was
doing. I did my best to sooth him, but, I thought to myself, this was not a
good start.

Usually, in my experience, the delegates who dealt with these matters

had their questions regarding how they could get information from their
competitors ready. They would ask and we would tell them that we were
sorry but we were unable to disclose the source and that such digging
required very specialist services, which our company was in a unique
position to provide.

This one, however, Arturo Fernandez, was behaving rather differently.

Rather than being forthcoming about the problems they were trying to
resolve, I had to fish the information out of him. Finally, he told me that
the company he represented, ATRASH, estimated that their Research
Department was months behind their competitors ZODARS Inc, who had
announced the release date of their new products as 1st January 2016.
They wanted an investigation to be carried out to firstly ascertain if it were
true, and secondly, to neutralize their advance in some way. For the
success of this objective they were prepared to pay a reasonable amount.
I got all the information that he was willing to hand over, the company
details and his private mobile number, before inviting him to have dinner
in one of the hotel restaurants. However, he declined, saying that he had
a prior engagement elsewhere at 21:00. I took a taxi back to my
apartment and reported the details of the meeting to the London office,
advising that the contact had seemed unsure of himself and should be
carefully investigated.

Days later I learnt that ATRASH had accepted our help and agreed to pay a
substantial fee, paying half in advance, the balance to be paid on the
completion of the service, providing we were successful.

And so, life continued. I had a steady flow of meetings, a considerable

amount of which had positive results. My salary now allowed me to save
8,000 a month, so that by that point I had accumulated over 100,000 in
my two bank accounts. I was keeping up with my fitness, jogging daily for
a couple of hours, starting at 7:00 and, when I felt like it, going to the gym
in the afternoons. I tried to avoid many of the expensive soirees with my
neighbours, but my social life was not completely dead.

I had made some new friends / acquaintances from the Sporting Club and
had been invited by another group to go to a posh dance club. I couldn't
help but remember Sheila, and I missed her. Because of her I was taking
dance classes at a nearby academy. Besides the women from our crowd,
with some of who I tentatively flirted, there were also some attractive
young ladies on the prowl for single gentlemen, which helped keep life
interesting. Although when we saw each other, Sheila and I slipped back
into being a couple, there was never any talk of our relationship being
exclusive. Neither of us asked about whether we saw other people when
we were apart, and neither volunteered the information.

On the first of my trips back to England after Simon had torn up my

contract, I made it a priority to head back to the clinic to see Dr Hilmarton
about the pills. Simon had obviously been in touch to tell him to go ahead
and give me the prescription without any issues and the pills were ready
to be picked up. He gave me enough to last until September 2016, at
which time, he assured me, I should be able to stop taking them, pending
certain test results of course.

In the first week of May, I received a surprise phone call from Simon. He
congratulated me on my success with the recent acquisitions, and invited
me to come over to London for some talks with the team. He also
suggested that perhaps in the following week, I could go with him to his
country home in Berkshire to meet his son and daughter, and their
children. His daughter, Eli, had had a lovely baby girl, who after some
initial problems, was now perfectly well and healthy, and he was looking
forward to giving a party celebrate in her honour.

"Would you please come over, Michael?" Please? "You said you'd like to
meet your family here, despite your grumbly, bossy son." Had he actually
said, 'please'? It seemed unbelievable! The dual personality of Simon
Spencer!

How could I say no? After all, I had been expecting it, though somewhat
apprehensively. 'What are you afraid of, you fool?' I asked myself. From
what he had told me, I imagined a lovely family in a beautiful country
manor. The family I hadn't known existed! It's never too late. But, but...
had Simon told them I was his biological father? And, if so, for what
purpose? Was it safe now to disclose our relationship?

And if he hadn't told them, I was not a missing grandfather, but an old
bird that had just landed from some foreign land. Surely they would
wonder what on earth I was doing involving myself in such a personal
family occasion! Then another issue came to my mind. What about his
idea of revising his rejuvenation? He'd told me that was due in about
seven months time and that must be about now. Or had he said April?
Perhaps he'd already done it while I'd been in Spain. I knew he hadn't
really wanted to undergo another procedure, but he'd said it was
necessary.

All this went through my mind in a moment, but I merely answered, "Well,
of course, Simon. With pleasure! But who's going to cover the Madrid
station while I'm away if it's more than a few days? I'm pretty sure I have
some appointments scheduled for next week, according to my last
communication from David."

"Don't worry about that. We've got it covered!"

My substitute me arrived 8th May and although he had received an
intensive course in London, as I had, I still had to show him the ropes here
in Spain regarding who's who, the protocol and the agenda. He was a nice
guy of about thirty with blonde hair, half Spanish, half Dutch, but with a
good level of English. He brought his own laptop as I was not leaving
mine behind. It didn't bother me having someone else stay in the
apartment, but I filled a couple of cardboard boxes with some of my
private things and gave them to the building caretaker, just in case. He
was a nice chap and I trusted him not to go through my things.

Simon called again to ask me if I was satisfied with Adrian and I told him
that I was, though in reality I did feel a little uneasy about him. I wasn't
really sure why, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

He told me to buy a ticket for Wednesday 11th May and said he would
send someone to meet me at Heathrow if I sent him my flight details
beforehand.

So, I crossed the English channel once again! I was met by George who
took me to the Primrose Hotel, my usual home away from home. It was
after 17:00 when I arrived and I knew the office would be empty apart
from the team in the basement and Lionel, the caretaker. I unpacked and
sent a message to advise that I had arrived and would be at the office in
the morning at 9:00. I thought about phoning Sheila, but decided to wait
as my mind felt a bit foggy after the journey. Instead, I changed into my
tracksuit and went jogging in Hampstead Park Heath for a little while. As I
jogged, I thought about what I would do later that evening. Perhaps have
dinner in a restaurant, or a couple of beers at my favourite pub 'The
Farmers Gate' with a slice of my favourite steak and kidney pie. Would I
see Sheila? Tomorrow morning would be a busy one and then, if all went
to plan, we would be heading to Simon's family estate in Berkshire in the
early afternoon. No, I decided. I wouldn't interrupt her routine just for the
sake of a few hours.
Having made up my mind not to see Sheila for the time being, I had
dinner at a restaurant and then went back to the Primrose to relax in front
of the TV.

The next morning, the weather was still good enough to go to the office on
foot. Harry was already there by the time I arrived at 9:00 and I went to
see him. Well, since my inclusion into 'A' level he was even less friendly
than he had been before. He was always polite, but he couldn't
completely hide his annoyance that I was being included in the Board
Meeting. I could understand his feelings quite well, as it must seem very
unfair that a new team member should rise so quickly to the level it had
taken him years to reach.

The Board meeting was chaired, as usual, by Mr Spencer. The other

members present were Harry, Jerry, David and the two other
communications engineers, John and Bill, to whom I had not been formerly
introduced before. The initial theme of the meeting was on the need for
efficiency and close contact between us in order to resolve any issues that
could be potentially harmful to the company. Each member said their
piece and then it was my turn. I hadn't prepared anything to say, so I
spoke of something I had read the day before. The matter that caused me
some surprise was the way that the Spanish government allowed any
detective agency to advertise their services as 'research investigation
services', both in the papers and online, supplying their phone numbers
and stating that they were able to get inside information on foreign
competitors. Some offered to neutralise financial advantages between
the different countries in the fight to get contracts. It seemed that our
competition advertised freely in the Spanish media and I wanted to know
if we were doing anything to compete.

My speech drew some low murmurs around the table, all looking at me,
sympathetically it seemed. Their faces saying, 'what does this guy tell us
that we don't already know ?' It was Mr Spencer who answered me.
"Well, Mr. Velasco, what you're telling us is very interesting. Of course, we
are already aware of this. We have many competitors in this line of work.
The only thing unknown to us was the lack of interest or motivation of
Spanish Civil Rights prosecutors to stop these agencies from doing what
they please and that shames the government. Surely you're aware that
the best clients we have are the ones that have come to us as a result of
word-of-mouth recommendations, which of course, doesn't cost us a
penny. As you know, the CEOs of the big enterprises, from oil companies
to electricity, to pharmaceutical companies, meet regularly to discuss
their policies. That is where we get our publicity."

"Please excuse me if I've given you useless old news, but I was a bit
shocked when I first saw it and wanted to bring it up, just to learn more
about it myself really."

"No problem, Mr Velasco. It's always good to be reminded of the

competition."

At that point a young girl came up in the lift with drinks and light
refreshments. As I'd already had a full English breakfast at the hotel, I just
took a buttered roll and a cup of bad, light American coffee. After a short
interval, she cleaned up the table, wheeled out her carriage, and we
carried on with the meeting. Simon opened by reminding us of the last
interference and assured us that no harm had been done, thanks to the
quality of our security systems.

I only spoke once more to express my misgivings about the substitutions

that were required when one of us needed to be covered for some reason.
Were we absolutely sure about their trustworthiness? Harry assured me
that they were all thoroughly vetted and we of the highest integrity. "How
do you find your substitute, Adrian?"

"I've already given my opinion on this matter to Mr Spencer." I turned to

look at Simon, who nodded his head in assent. Harry glanced away briefly
in an attempt to hide his obvious irritation. It clearly irked him that I'd
been communicating directly with Mr Spencer, without having to go
through him.

The meeting ended and everyone went their separate ways. Jerry was as
friendly as ever. We chatted about Madrid and it turned out that he knew
the town quite well, as he sometimes went there on holiday. He invited
me to go down to the basement with him, but I said I'd better check with
Mr Spencer first in case he wanted me for something.

I sat down in my old cubicle to wait for Simon's call. I didn't want to go to
Harry's office as he was clearly annoyed with me, but I knew he could see
me from his position on the second floor. After a while I heard Harry say,
"No, Mr Spencer, I have no idea where he might be." I supposed he was
talking about me, so I stood up so that he couldn't avoid noticing me from
his position higher up, at which point he sullenly waved me up the stairs.
I regretted Harry's animosity as I didn't want to have an enemy like him in
the office, but I supposed there was nothing I could do about it.

I went up the stairs and called out, "Michael Velasco here sir." I shouted
quite loudly, with the intention that I would be heard by everyone on the
second floor.

Simon opened the door, we shook hands and he closed the door behind
me. "Where've you been?" he asked. I explained that I'd been waiting in
my old cubicle, so that Harry could see me.

Simon smiled and chuckled softly to himself. "Well done, man! Harry can
get out of hand sometimes. He's clearly jealous of you. Of course, he
knows nothing of our true relationship, but probably guesses that you
have some kind of hold on me, which in a way is true! Did you bring your
laptop with you?"

"Of course. I didn't want to leave it behind, with Adrian staying there. I
could see from Harry's reaction during the meeting that Adrian is a
favourite of his."
"Very astute! You're right of course. His protg, you might say. You see,
Harry Stuart is married to a Dutch woman, and she likes to speak Dutch as
often as she can. Adrian is a friend of hers.

Right then Michael. Where's your computer? You didn't leave it in the
hotel, did you?"

"No, no. It's in a locker down in the basement. Jerry assured me it would
be safe there."

"Perfect. Now, today is Thursday 12th May and, as I told you, my girl Eli is
throwing a party tomorrow at the estate in Berkshire. There'll be quite a
few people. Most of them family of one or the other. And I expect that my
ex-wife Elisabeth with also be there, along with my son and all of his
family. Eli's husband Michael is from Liverpool, though at the moment
he's working in Maidenhead, and I imagine that quite a lot of his family
will also be there. They're in charge and will have to figure out how many
people can stay at the house with its twenty-odd bedrooms and
bathrooms. Now, you know I want you to come, but if you feel
uncomfortable staying at the house, you can always spend the night at a
nearby hotel. But you will come to the ceremony at lunch time, won't
you? You know, the Spencer family have always been churchgoers.
Catholics, you know."

"Well, Simon, as with many things in my life, I have a double opinion. I'd
like to go, for your sake, and also because I'd like to get to know my
English family, and, I must say, I have a certain amount of fascination
regarding the house as I know it's where my old friend Sabrina grew up.
She also told me that she used to go to Mass whenever she could. On the
other hand, I suppose it will be strange for me in many ways..., but,
ultimately... yes. Count me in."

"Fantastic! It's important to me that you be there. You see, I couldn't help
myself and I let spill, only to Andrew and Eli mind, the true nature of our
relationship. I had told them previously that I had invited a 'special' guest,
and they wouldn't let up questioning me!
As far as the other guests are concerned, all they know is that you are a
special friend who has been working with me in Hampstead, but I couldn't
avoid telling my son and daughter the truth. To be honest, I think Andrew
had already worked it out. Apparently he'd read his grandma's will and
seen the clause asking me to find and look after you. I haven't given
them a lot of details, but, as you can imagine, they're dying to meet you."

"Of course. That's quite understandable. And I'm keen to meet them too!
I'll have to hire a smoking jacket and whatnot, because I'm afraid I don't
have any really formal clothes with me. And what about a present for
your daughter and her baby?"

"Oh, don't worry about the suit. I have plenty, and our regular tailor will
be at the house to do any alterations. As for a present, we'll have to stop
somewhere on the way if that's OK with you?"

I nodded that it was, and Simon continued, "I also wanted to tell you, that
after we're done here, Monday or Tuesday, I'll be taking a week off to go to
Bioclyde to get my blood pressure checked and see if I can come off the
pills. If you come with me, they'll be able to check your situation with
regard to the pills too."

Hell, it was true! What with all the excitement of the meeting talk of
meeting the family, I'd failed to notice his appearance. His face looked
haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, and, looking closer, I noticed
he'd applied some sort of makeup to hide his paleness. But of course! He
hadn't gone to Bioclyde after all. He must've passed the deadline and
stopped taking the pills in order to see what would happen. It seemed
that he was already being affected by the lack of them. He'd told me
before that he wanted to take the chance and see if his body really
needed the substance, and it was clear now that it did! He must have
foreseen this possibility and no doubt already had a plan in place with Dr
Hilmarton. I didn't see any harm in going with him and it would give me a
chance to see the Dr myself and to ask for a fresh supply of the pills. I'd
been led to believe that I would need to take them until September 2016,
at which point I would be able to stop. Or so they'd told me. The fact that
Simon was having trouble with them raised some serious concerns and I
welcomed the opportunity to see Dr Hilmarton again. I told Simon I'd be
happy to go with him, whenever it suited.

"Harry will be taking the help while I'm away. It shouldn't be more than
ten days altogether. Why don't you head over to the hotel now and pick
up your things, while I sort out a few last minute things here. Get your
laptop from Jerry when you get back and we'll leave as soon as possible.
Forty-five minutes should be enough, don't you think? 13:30. Is that OK?"

I went off to get my things and made it back to the office a little after
13:00. I recovered my laptop from Jerry's locker and watched as Simon
brought the cart out of the garage, beeping the horn. It was a wine-red
Aston Martin coupe, long and shining. He must have loved the machine,
for he also had a Lexus and a BMW to choose from.

It was a low coupe, a little noisy, and I had to raise the seat to sit more
comfortably. He drove at the maximum allowed by the speed-limit.

We stopped at a huge mall near Reading where I bought something, I

forget what, for the baby girl Sheila, and some flowers for Eli, the mother.

"Should I get some flowers for your ex too?" I asked.

"No, no. That won't be necessary. Look, could you drive for a while? My
head is killing me right now."

"Absolutely! I'd be delighted to drive this beast! Though mind you, I'll
drive much slower than you, but I think I'll manage. It really is a beauty.
Maybe at some point this weekend, you'll let me take it for a leisurely
drive around the county."

We had lunch at the mall. I, a beer and a sandwich, and Simon, tea and
biscuits together with some pills. Aspirin? "My head," he explained.

It was a pleasant drive, though not without some difficulties due to my

lack of experience driving on the left. We arrived at the Spencer estate at
about 16:00. There, everything was as I'd imagined it would be. A long
square-shaped sandstone building, sitting on a rise of the ground, with a
lovely grey and brown facade. The top was crenellated like a castle,
higher in the centre then on the two wings, decorated with short columns
topped by a banister. The first floor had plenty of windows along with
some French doors which opened out onto the long terrace, which was
adorned with beautiful flowers. Before reaching the ample square by the
main door, I stopped the car for a moment to drink-in the beautiful
scenery. Then, following Simon's directions, I parked in front of the house.
Immediately the front doors were opened to receive the master and his
guest.

We were welcomed cheerfully by the staff and then we proceeded inside.

I, gazing from side to side in admiration. The hall was huge and led to a
large common room with a huge stone chimney with a fire burning,
flanked by a wide, carved mahogany staircase leading up to the first floor.
The ceiling here at the front of the house, was high enough to see the
upper floors.

Simon's son, Andrew, was the first to come out to greet us, with his wife
and children, all shouting welcomes. Eli came out soon after, having just
finished feeding the baby, who was to be christened 'Sheila' the following
day. Simon introduced me as his friend and colleague from Spain. Neither
Andrew nor Eli could hide the curiosity from their gazes. So, this plain
looking gentleman was their grandfather?!

After the introductions were over, Simon led the way to another living
room overlooking the terrace. We could see quite a large pond on one
side and, further on, beautiful green fields filled with flowering shrubs. I
felt quite dizzy, turning round and around, gaping at all the things that
decorated the walls, floor and ceiling. Simon, with his hand on my
shoulder, invited me to sit down and the other adults followed suit.
Andrew's children, a boy of thirteen and a girl of ten, jumped around
excitedly, chattering away and asking a million questions. Where was I
from? How long had I been working with their grandpa? Was I married?
Did I have any children?

After a while, Simon affectionately sent them out to play in the gardens
and the maid came to tell us that tea was ready and would be served in
the dining room. The tea set was beautiful, with teapots, milk jars and
cups and saucers in delicate bone china. Simon's ex-wife, Elizabeth, sat
down next to me. She was an attractive woman of around forty. We
introduced ourselves and she asked me about my studies and work life. I
answered as best I could, with my well-rehearsed story of how Simon and I
had met by chance in Seville, and I had chanced to be of some help to him
there. To me she was the embodiment of the typical upper class British
lady. There was something almost regal in her bearing. After a little while
she confided in me that it was difficult for her to have to see her ex at all
the family events and asked me to "please, Michael, keep by my side, if
you don't mind, until this christening and party is over." I promised to do
so with pleasure, but said that I would have to leave afterwards to go to a
hotel. Andrew overheard me say that and right away jumped in to say
that I was more than welcome to stay in the house. He said there would
be plenty of rooms available, even with his wife's and Eli's families who
were arriving later. The staff had prepared eighteen of the twenty rooms.
I would've much preferred to go to a hotel and come back in the morning
for the ceremony, but they wouldn't hear of it. They were all quite
insistent, though Simon, oddly, remained silent. He appeared to be deep
in thought and would not make eye-contact with me. Perhaps, like me, he
was thinking about the intricacies of life and about the million-and-one
things that had happened to bring us here together, father and son. We
were all links in a chain. Simon, his son and daughter, their children and
so on and so on. Such was life! I was happy to be included in this new
family, but somewhat sad at the same time. After all, I had already lived a
full life apart from this. I wondered, for the millionth time, whether it was
a good thing that Simon had found me and lured me changed my life so
completely.
Baby Sheila's christening and the party that followed were perfect.
Everything flowed seamlessly and the catering company did an excellent
job. Simon, I noted, seemed to want to be close to me, frequently resting
his hand on my shoulder or arm. It felt rather strange to me and also
meant that I couldn't escort Elisabeth as she had asked. Whenever I tried
to make eye-contact with her, she looked away. It was clear that she
knew now who I really was. Had Eli told her?

However, despite my feeling a little awkward, it all went rather well and
soon enough it was Sunday and everyone was saying goodbye. Andrew's
family were staying temporarily as they were having their house
renovated. He was a partner in an Architecture firm and worked fairly
close to Berkshire in Maidenhead. Eli's husband, Henry, was a partner in a
law firm in the same town.

I was waiting to see what Simon had in mind next. After he had said
goodbye to the last of the guests, he drew me to one side and asked me,
rather stutteringly, if I would take a walk with him in the park nearby. We
had not gone far from the house when he turned to me and said, "Look,
Michael. You know I told you that I had to go back to the clinic to check
my health? Perhaps you've already noticed that I've been taking rather a
lot of painkillers lately. I have to call phone Dr Hilmarton first thing
tomorrow morning to make the arrangements. But..., but...Michael, listen,
the latest news... the latest discoveries... what the research team have
revealed, is that, that, that...well... it's been tested in other clinics
worldwide, and you see... they've found that, in my case, the best result
would be attained with the help of a second patient... one with the same
blood type and a familial DNA match. Your blood type, to be exact.
Initially I thought I would ask Andrew, but then I thought that if the first
procedure has not be entirely successful for me, perhaps you will have the
same problems in due course. You were operated on at the end of
September 2014 and it's now May 2016, so it could be that in another few
months you will start to feel weaker and then begin to get headaches. At
least, that's what's happened to me. And... Hell! I don't want to accept it!
To be chained for life to these bloody pills! I want to stop taking them,
and get my health back. Don't you agree, Michael? And to do it, we need
each other!"

So that was it! The aim of all his scheming and planning! He hadn't
sought me out and offered me the 'miracle surgery' for my benefit at all.
It had all been about saving himself from the very beginning! I couldn't
contain myself. I stopped abruptly and turned to confront him.

"Look here, Simon. Stop! So, you've finally revealed your hand! You
know, I've been suspecting for some time now that your motives were less
than pure. What twisted tricks you've used to maneuver me into this
position! This explains everything! You started looking for me when the
tests showed you that some of the procedures were having unwanted
long-term effects and you realised that you could potentially be one of the
unlucky ones! Did Sabrina really ask you to find me, or was it you who
asked her? I imagine you were pretty disappointed when you met me and
realised that I wasn't in good enough health to be of use to you. Too old
and weak! That's why you so generously offered me the surgery, isn't it?

I can't deny that it's been a great experience to partly recover my youth,
and also now to get to know my new family. I must say, you've put on
quite a show for me." I laughed bitterly.

"And now you want me to help you out of your plight! Still, you know I still
have some time. I might be able to find the antidote to this poison we're
both taking on my own!"

"I'll tell you what you have, Michael. You have a couple of months! That's
all! And when it's time for you to request the next lot of pills from the
clinic, if you refuse to help me, I have instructed Dr Hilmarton to charge a
price no less than 100,000. That will be the price!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Simon?! I'm already in my second
year after the procedure and have enough to last me until the end of
September. I was told that after that the pills will no longer be
necessary!"

"Perhaps Dr Hilmarton forgot to mention to you that in some cases it's not
possible to come off the pills. Such is my case. And they will not be free!
The lab that produces them is somewhere in the states and I'm afraid only
Dr Hilmarton knows the details. But, as I've told you, they've found a way
to fix the problem. All that's required is the use of a partner with the
same blood type. You've said yourself that you had no choice but to
accept my offer. And I know that now, despite your present doubts, you
will follow me again. The procedure itself carries very little physical risk
and I'm even prepared to sweeten the deal. I'm a rich man, Michael, and
I'll give you 500,000 cash, in exchange for your assistance."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself, Simon! Perhaps you assume too much!
I've always been an honest person and I wonder, how is it possible that
you're my son? A scoundrel! What you're doing is nothing short of
blackmail! You know full well that I could never afford to pay such an
outrageous sum for the pills, if and when I should need them. Well...
You're not the only one who can play games. I will help you. But I will do
it for 1 million, to be paid in advance with a guarantee that, should
anything happen to me, the money will go to my family in Spain. And I
want it in writing, a gift from son to father, legally-binding and witnessed.
Does that work for you?"

He let out a low chuckle. "Bloody hell, Michael! You draw a hard bargain!
Well... let me think about it. Now, I'm going to call a taxi to take you to
the Forboury Hotel in Reading. You can put it on the company account if
you wish. I'll meet you there first thing tomorrow morning and we'll figure
out the best possible solution for both of us."

With that, he turned on his heel, marched back into the house and
slammed the door. I sat down on the terrace and waited, supposing he
would have my things sent down. In due course, a maid came down with
both my suitcase and briefcase and told me that a taxi was on its way.
Once safely lodged in my hotel room, I laid down on the bed almost crying
with rage. The twisted monster! I had at last found out what he was up
to. He'd been playing me all along! He'd wanted to keep me close so he
could control me! Of course there were others more suited to the job than
me. I had been right to be suspicious of his motives! And no, with his
health declining, he'd had to lay his cards on the table. He'd sought me
out, ever since he'd discovered that the surgery carried with it long-term
risks. Back when he'd undergone his procedure, three years ago, this
'problem' was unknown. Would he have done it if he'd known the risks?
Would I? It seemed probable that I too now had an expiry date. So, he
was right! He had me by the ropes! What could I do about it? Take the
100,000 odd that I'd been able to save and go? But, go where? Mexico?
South America? And then what? Wait until... what if what he were saying
were true? I'd have about four months and then my health would start to
decline. Of course, it was possible that I'd be one of the lucky ones and
would be able to simply stop taking the pills without any ill effects. It was
a hell of a risk though! And... if the procedure were not dangerous... but
how could I be sure? It was clear now that Simon was not a man to be
trusted! But I had to consider the potential result... I could be free of the
bloody pills once and for all, and be considerably richer to boot. Was it
worth potentially risking my life?

My mind tormented, I slept little. It was with considerable effort that I

dragged myself out of bed at 7:00. I willed myself to put on my tracksuit
and went out for a jog, telling the receptionist that I was expecting a Mr
Spencer of Spencer House and that, if he were to arrive while I was out, to
call me on my mobile.

I found a nice path along the river Thames and followed it for about an
hour before turning back. It was 9:10 when I got back to the hotel. The
exercise had helped to calm my nerves and I was feeling much better. I
went to my room, had a shower and a shave and then went down with my
suitcase to have breakfast at the buffet. As I ate, I thought about what I
would say to him. I had pretty much decided to go along with his plan.
It was past 11:00 when he finally entered the hotel lounge. Serious,
unshaven and stressed looking, he had probably slept less than me. We
nodded good morning and I waited for him to speak.

"So, Michael. What've you decided?"

"Well, like I said yesterday, I would be willing to go ahead with your plan
on the condition that you get a legal document put together guaranteeing
that 1 million shall be transferred to my Barclays account with an
addendum that, in the event of my death, the money should be given to
my wife and daughters in Spain."

"OK. Well, though you are being far too daring, for I could make things
very difficult for you, I agree to your terms. I have a terrible headache
today, despite all the painkillers. At this point I just want to get it over
with. Can you wait until we get to Somerford to have the document
signed and witnessed? I'll already had my lawyer draw it up so it'll be
ready for us when we arrive. I have a car with a driving waiting so we can
leave whenever you're ready.

I have already affected the transfer you asked for. Here's a copy of your
account statement. It was done, as you suggested, as a gift from son to
father. I trust the significance of that is not lost on you? I'm calling you
my father, in a public document! Although it goes against my better
judgement, I am declaring our relationship publicly."

This seemed to be a big deal to him, but to me it was just window

dressing. What did I care if people knew or not? Nevertheless, I was glad
he'd already done the things I'd requested.

We got to the Bioclyde Clinic on Monday 16th at 12:15, having stopped

first at his lawyer's office to pick up the document. He'd called Dr
Hilmarton from the car, and a stretcher was ready to take him lying down.
From the corner of my eye I could see Helen over by Mrs Adams' desk,
looking serious and also rather sad. As we approached the lift to the
surgical level, I shouted, "STOP!" I raised my arm holding the legal
document and demanded that the document be witnessed before we went
ahead with anything. Everybody looked rather confused, so I repeated my
demand. "I will not go any further until this document has been signed by
two witnesses."

It was a tense moment, but after a few long seconds, Simon half cried,
"Do as he says, for goodness sake!". So Helen and Dr Hilmarton went with
me over to the reception desk where they both signed the document and
the copy. After checking that everything was in order, I slipped them into
my briefcase. Afterwards, as we were all heading for the lift, I
surreptitiously popped back to Mrs Adams' desk and handed her my
suitcase and briefcase. "Mrs Adams, please keep these in your custody.
Don't let anyone else near them, OK?" She nodded and slipped my
briefcase into a filing cabinet behind the desk which she then locked.
Satisfied, I joined the others as they were entering the lift.

We were both prepared for surgery and, despite our recent arguments, we
shook hands and wished each other luck. Then they drew the large white
curtain across, separating us. I had been given a tranquiliser to relax me
and I could hear the bubbling of the oxygen being connected to Simon's
mouth. I had no need of it, but they put it to my mouth anyway. Despite
everything that was happening, I felt well, calm and carefree. I thought, 'I
wouldn't mind dying now with all this peace in my heart and soul, and
maybe that's what's going to happen. But somehow people will know that
what I have done was the right thing.' At that point, I think I must've
drifted off to sleep.

Afterwards, much later, they told me they had extracted two litres of my
blood, and replaced it with the same quantity of fresh platelet-rich blood.
The blood had circulated slowly between our two bodies, mixing my blood
with that of my son.

Everything went well, apparently, during the first forty hours, but after
that, something had happened. It was seventy-two hours since the start
of the procedure when the nurse woke me up. I could feel someone
fingering my eyes and shining a powerful torch in them. "Yes, yes. He's
waking up now." I heard them say.

As I opened my eyes, all I could see was the ceiling and then a nurse, on
my right, holding my wrist, and little by little the rest of the room came
into focus. They called my name, several times, so I answered. I thought
that I'd been under for six days, like the previous time. The white curtains
were still there and though I couldn't see through them, somehow I could
feel the emptiness on the other side. So, Simon had already been moved.
I could feel it. I asked the nurse as she was disconnecting me from all the
machines and she told me, "the doctors will come and talk to you soon."

I was feeling very tired. I had to rest and keep quiet, but my stomach was
rumbling. I could see that night was falling outside. As I was waiting for
the doctors to come, I must've fallen asleep. At some point the nurse
woke me up gently as Dr Hilmarton, followed by another white-coated
doctor, came into the room.

"Good evening Mr Velasco. How are you?"

I told him I was fine and he continued.

"I'm afraid I have to give you some terrible news. Something went wrong
during the procedure and Mr Spencer's heart failed. The attack was
sudden and strong. Dr Fowler tried his best to recover him by all means...
by all means, but I'm afraid all attempts to resuscitate him were
unsuccessful. He was declared dead at 19:40 on 18th May. I did the post-
mortem examination myself and found the cause of death to be acute
myocardial infarction.

We have learnt today, from the paperwork you left with Mrs Adams, that
Simon Spencer was your son. That certainly explains why he brought you
here, back in September 2014, and all but forced me to accept you into
the programme."

I was completely shocked! Simon was dead? Dr Hilmarton had seen the
paperwork? And where was it now? I couldn't think clearly. I closed my
eyes and tried to concentrate. Of course, I felt relieved that it hadn't been
me. I knew I shouldn't feel that way. That I should be sorry. But, deep
inside, was I really? There had been no love lost between us. He had
used me from the very beginning! What consequences would his death
have for me? How could this have happened? I'd been told that the of
the two of us, I had been in the riskier position. What had they screwed
up? I voiced my concerns to Dr Hilmarton. "Could it have been due to
some electronic failure? Or was it human error?" His face blanched when
I asked that question. Neither of them answered me. What did that
mean? Had someone messed up? I asked if I could get up and go to see
him, but they told me that it wouldn't be possible as his death was still
under investigation.

"And, what about me?" I asked. "Has my body or face changed in any
way? Has there been a reversal? Could I see myself in a mirror, please?"
They handed me a small hand-held mirror and waited for me to inspect
my reflection. Everything was as before. Nothing had changed. "And
what about the rest of my body?"

"No, no. You haven't suffered any damage. You've been very lucky, for we
had to interrupt the procedure earlier than planned. But you seem to be
absolutely fine. Perhaps even better than before! Simon wanted to be
free of the medication and, against my recommendation, stopped taking
the pills. It seems that this caused irreversible damage to his heart. I was
in contact with my colleagues in the US and we were all convinced that
the intervention would yield positive results for both of you, but, as I said,
his heart gave up. I think it was just too late for him."

"Hmmm... yes. That makes sense. On the way here from Berkshire he
was clearly in pain and was taking a lot of painkillers. But... I don't
understand. You did ECGs for both of us before the surgery. The results
must've been OK, no? Otherwise you wouldn't have operated!"

"Of course we wouldn't have! Everything appeared to fine! We don't take

careless risks. You knew him. He was a tough guy. A workaholic and a
daredevil. That's just how he was. But... life must go on. I'll have you
moved to another room as soon as possible. You'll stay in intensive care
for between twenty-four and forty-eight hours, depending on how well
you're doing, after which time you'll be moved to a guest room on the first
floor. After that you'll have daily checkups until we're confident that
you're fit to be released."

"Bloody hell, doctor. What a strange thing this life is. He told me the
procedure would be quite safe. He just wanted to come off the pills! I
didn't want to come with him, but he begged me, and also told me that
perhaps I would end up in the same position as him if not. How will it be
with me now? Will I be free of the pills, or what?"

"That remains to be seen Mr Velasco. You'll keep on taking them for the
time being, until we're confident that you are safe to stop. The result is
not guaranteed, but it is very likely."

So, they changed me to a different hospital room. The nurse checked my

vitals and said that everything was in good order. "How do you feel?" she
asked me.

"Well, I've been better, but not bad considering the situation. Do you
think I'll be able to get up soon and perhaps have something to eat? It's
funny... after my ordeal I don't feel exactly hungry, but my stomach won't
stop growling. Can't you hear it? Perhaps a ham and cheese sandwich?
Please?"

But I couldn't have anything solid. Apparently the noises from my

stomach were just the result of gas so, with the nurses help, I went to the
toilet. That helped a lot and then a was given a glass of water with some
drops, and later on a cup of tea with some puree.

To begin with I was quite unsteady on my feet, but that didn't last too
long. Before going to bed I was given something to help me sleep and I
dropped off without any trouble.
The following morning, Dr Vivian Radler came to see me. I knew her from
before to be a serious but kind woman. The nurse took some blood and
they did an ECG and an EEG and checked my blood pressure. After that
they left me alone for a bit while they went to analyse the results.

When Dr Radler came back she told me that everything was quite all right
and that I could start taking gentle walks in the corridor to test my
strength. I didn't feel up to jogging, but I did feel pretty good, considering.
I was impatient to get out and about, but I had to wait for Dr Hilmarton to
declare me fit enough to go to the guest room. Also, I hoped to see my
dear friend Helen. Where was she? She must be deeply shocked by what
had happened. Perhaps she wouldn't want to talk about it with anybody.
Not even with me.

At around 11:00, Dr Hilmarton came in and congratulated me.

"Everything has gone extremely well for you, Mr Velasco. We shall release
you soon enough. We're still investigating what went wrong with Mr
Spencer. We will of course keep you informed. By the way, Mr Spencer Jr,
Andrew, said he'll be here this afternoon to see to matters regarding his
father's body, and he'd like to see you too. Meanwhile, there's a room
being prepared for you on the first floor. You can take the lift up from
here. Please, put on this overall. The nurse will take your things up.
Please follow her."

As he was leaving, Dr Hilmarton stopped and asked me, "Before I go, Mr

Velasco, excuse me for enquiring, but, how is it that you are, sorry, that
you were, Mr Spencer's father?"

I sighed and answered, "You know, that's a long story and I'm really not
feeling quite myself yet. I'll tell you about it some other time, when I'm
feeling up to it."

"Yes, of course. And, just to clarify, Andrew Spencer is your grandson?"

"Obviously, that's correct, since his father was my son!" Why was he
asking all these questions?
"As I've said, he's coming here today to take his father's body back to
Berkshire for the funeral. I believe it will take place tomorrow morning.
I'm afraid it's too early for you to be able to join them. We still have to
perform the daily checkups and it's imperative that we be certain of your
welfare before we release you. You understand."

"Hmmm... well, yes, I suppose so. We'll see what happens later when
Andrew gets here. But, all else aside, could you tell me whether I'll be
able to stop taking the damn pills?"

He cleared his throat before answering.

"Ehemm... Well... yes, do continue to take them for the time being. They
will do you no harm and we must be certain before we can release you
from the obligation. For the moment, please try to make yourself at home
here. This is your room now and for the remainder of your stay. You will
find that it is exceptionally well-appointed and not at all like a hospital
room. As for the pills, we'll have to wait and see. I am confident that you
will be able to stop taking them, but, as I've already said, it's of
paramount importance that we be absolutely sure it's the right course of
action. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Mr Spencer! A
patient has to be just that... patient. Now, all your things are here already.
Is that all OK, Mr Velasco? Do you have any questions?"

After Dr Hilmarton had left, I suddenly remembered the briefcase. Bloody

hell! The paperwork! I got up from the bed, swaying slightly, but was
able to steady myself without too much difficulty. I went to the cupboard
and took out my briefcase. The laptop was there, but the papers were
not! I felt dizzy. I clearly remembered handing it over to Mrs Adams! All
the important documents! The Barclays statement showing the transfer,
the legal document signed by Dr Hilmarton and Helen! Perhaps Mrs
Adams had been forced to deliver all my things to Dr Hilmarton. I couldn't
believe it. What if they didn't return the documents? I was crestfallen.
Was I being played with, even now?... again?
On Saturday 21st, I was finally given the OK to go down to the dining
room. They told me that it was open between 12:00 and 15:00 and that I
was allowed to eat whatever I wanted. I was to call the nurse to take me
down in a wheelchair but, as I felt quite well, I told them it wouldn't be
necessary and that I would take the lift down by myself. They insisted
that I be accompanied and I said that was fine.

I got dressed and locked my things inside the cupboard and waited for the
nurse to arrive. I was still furious about the missing documents, but had
decided to say nothing for the time being. At the dining room, I thanked
the nurse for escorting me and told her I would call when I wished to
return to my room. As soon as she'd left, I turned and found my way to
the lobby to talk to Mrs Adams.

She greeted me cheerfully, congratulating me on my good luck and

kissing me on both cheeks in the Spanish style. I told her I was feeling
pretty good and had come down to get something to eat, but also to
enquire about the documents I'd left with her the other day. I told her that
I had my suitcase and briefcase, but that the paperwork was missing. Did
she know what had happened?

She confirmed my suspicions. She had been ordered by Dr Hilmarton to

deliver Mr Velasco's things to a nurse. But, she told me, winking merrily,
she had kept the paperwork! With all the excitement, she had slipped it
out of the briefcase and into her stationary drawer. Later she had tucked
it into an envelope and popped it into her large handbag. They had asked
her about the documents, but she had denied knowing anything about
them! What an absolute gem! I must say, I felt quite in love with Mrs
Adams at that point!

She gave me back the envelope, advising me to hide it carefully. I slipped

it under my shirt and jumper and went off to the dining room to have my
lunch. It wouldn't do to be discovered in the lobby! Before I went, we
arranged to meet for tea in the visitors coffee shop at around 17:00 when
her shift finished.
"You alright, Michael?" she asked me when we met later.

"Yes, of course. I'm fine. It's just, you see... I'd really like to talk to Helen
Tathill. I suppose you know that we were involved before? Until last
March, when we both agreed it would be better if we were just friends.
So... I'm very surprised that she hasn't been to see me yet. Do you know
if she's OK?"

"Ah, yes. We both learnt the sad news at the same time. There are a few
things I could tell you about Helen that would perhaps shed some light on
her current behaviour, but I don't feel comfortable discussing those things
without her permission. I hope you understand, Michael. She's a good
friend and I'd hate to do anything to jeopardise that."

I told her I understood and we talked a while about the documents. She
suggested that if they were so important to me, perhaps I should post
them somewhere they'd be safe. I thanked her for taking the risk and
keeping them safe for me. I started to tell her what they were about, but
she interrupted me.

"Look, Michael, I think you're a good man and I did what you asked me to
do. I don't need to know the details. Later that day I overheard the head
nurse, Nancy, talking with Dr Hilmarton. They were busy searching my
desk, my drawers... and making a terrible mess in the process. Dr
Hilmarton was cursing you loudly. Apparently you were to blame for
something. I think it had to do with you being Mr Spencer's father."

I confirmed that was the case and said that the documents contained the
proof of that fact. I had no reason to really think so, but I had a sneaking
suspicion that if they were to be destroyed, it would end badly for me.

Mrs Adams, Margaret, she told me to call her, said she was sincerely sorry
to hear of Mr Spencer's death and asked me how it had happened. I told
her it had been a heart attack, but beyond that I couldn't say.

I asked her again about Helen Tathill, and she told me that she'd finally
divorced her husband, and that she was seeing someone, although she
didn't know who it was. Despite their friendship, Helen had not confided
in her. She advised me to give her space and wait for her to get in touch.
She had told her that I was in good health and supposed she would
contact me as and when she was ready.

Shortly after that, Mrs Adams left to catch the bus home and I returned to
my room. As Dr Hilmarton had said, it was well-appointed; warm and
comfortable. It would not be a great sacrifice to stay here for a couple of
weeks, away from all the intrigue of the office.

On Sunday 22nd at 10:30, there was a knock on the door. I called out,
"Come in!" The door opened and there stood a pale-faced Andrew, my
thirty-two year old grandson. I got up from the chair where I'd been
reading and we shook hands. I could see that he'd been crying and, then,
by a sudden impulse, we hugged each other, patting each other's backs
for comfort. He was taller than me, but not by much. He freely expressed
his sorrow and said that he would've liked it if I could come to the funeral,
but that Dr Hilmarton had told him it would be unwise. And anyway, he
said, he and his sister, and their mother, he was sure, would welcome me
to the Spencer House whenever I could manage it. He told me that after
the funeral they would be meeting with the family lawyers for the reading
of the Will. He expected that the Foundation would go to him and said he
imagined that I would also be entitled to something, especially in the light
of the fact that I had risked my own health to help his father.

Should I have mentioned that I had already been 'compensated'? He said

that Dr Hilmarton had explained the kind of help that I was doing for his
father, with something they called inter-transfusion, when something went
wrong. He obviously didn't know anything yet of the 'gift' of 1 million
that had already been transferred to my account.

I thanked him for coming to see me and asked him to give my kindest
regards to his sister and the baby Sheila, and to his wife and children, not
forgetting his mother Elisabeth. And I told him that yes, I would like to
visit them before I went back to London, at such time as I was released
from the clinic.

He didn't stay long as he had many things to attend to before the funeral.
People to call, formalities to arrange. He was of course being assisted by
his sister and brother-in-law, Henry, and above all, by his mother. I wished
him courage and good luck and said, "the same to you, Granddad."

Granddad? Oh my God, yes. Yes, I was his granddad. We wished each

other all the best and shook hands, sealing an alliance that was going to
last many years. I promised to go and see them as soon as I was able.

After Andrew left, I tried to call Sheila. The last time I had spoken with her
had been from Madrid, more than ten days before, when I still hadn't
known that I was coming to England. And now it was Sunday 22nd. No
doubt she was annoyed by my lack of contact. Perhaps she was out
dancing with her brother somewhere. Or perhaps she just didn't want to
speak to me. Either way, she didn't answer my calls. I had decided to tell
her that I'd had a car accident and had had to spend some time in
hospital, but that I was quite alright now, though unable to leave the
hospital just yet.

On Tuesday 24th, shock, horror, at about 19:00, Harry came to see me.
He looked rather contrite and told me he was sorry for his cold behaviour
before. He explained that he just hadn't been able to understand the
situation, but that now it was all clear to him. He asked me how it had all
come about and I answered, rather curtly, that it was a long story and I
didn't want to bore him.

"You told me once that you'd lived in England for a while when you were
younger." he prompted.

"well, yes. True enough. And I'm sure you can put two and two together
and imagine what happened between his mother and I, can't you?"
"Indeed. Listen, Michael. We're a bit lost now at the office. I have Mr
Spencer's letter authorising me to run things in his absence, though he
never mentioned how many days that would be. And now..."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what his plans were. I'm sure he was not
intending to die during our intervention!"

"'Our intervention'?"

"Oh, come off it Harry! I know full well that you have known what was
going on. I know of your friendship with Dr Hilmarton and I'm sure he has
kept you fully informed!"

"OK, OK, Michael. What're your plans now? Will you be coming back to
work in the office until something is arranged? We will of course have to
meet with David, William and John, but they're insisting, quite rightly, that
we wait to hear from Andrew regarding the contents of the Will. The
future of the company is all rather up in the air at the moment!"

"Hmmm... I guess you're right about that. I don't know. I'll have to think
about it. In the meantime, if I were you, I'd carry on as before. Just
assume you remain in charge until further notice! How're things going in
Madrid with Adrian?"

"Well, I'm sorry to say that he hasn't proven to be as efficient as I'd

expected. If and when you return you'll find the apartment a bit soiled. At
the moment he's at a hotel, and sending inadequate reports of his few
meetings. I'd be very appreciative if, once you're given the all clear, you
could return to your station and straighten him out!"

"Wow. I'm sorry to hear that. He seemed well-prepared for the job,
though perhaps a little too young. But I'm afraid I won't be able to do
anything about that for a while yet. I've been told that I must remain here
for at least another two weeks and when I am released I intend to spend a
few days in Berkshire with Andrew and the family."
Harry was clearly disappointed, but said he understood. We chatted a
little while longer about nothing in particular and then he took his leave.
Perhaps it would have been a wise idea to invite him to have lunch with
me in the dining room. I would've been able to get a bit more information
about the state of things in the office, but I didn't like the guy, and he
didn't like me, I was sure. So we kept our distance. I suppose the idea of
having me as a competitor had given him some serious indigestion
anyway!

On Friday 3rd June 2016, I was given the all clear to leave the clinic by Dr
Fowler. He told me he was temporarily in charge of Bioclyde as Dr
Hilmarton was on sick-leave, which for some reason made me feel quite
relieved. To my great joy, he told me that I would no longer need to take
the pills! I had been keeping mostly to myself and had resumed my
exercises, slowly at first, doing laps of the pool, and then progressing onto
jogging again. As I'd been somewhat of a recluse, I hadn't noticed the
changes that had been going on at the clinic. Helen still hadn't come to
see me and, if she had resumed her duties at the clinic, she'd been doing
a successful job of avoiding me. I asked some of the new doctors and
nurses about the changes, but they politely declined to answer. I
supposed they had been instructed not to talk about it.

Mrs Adams had told me that Helen had been very upset by Simon's death
and supposed that was why she was avoiding me. I understood that she
would be upset, but to such an extent that she wouldn't see me? It
seemed an excessive reaction, unless of course there had been something
more between them than just friendship. That, I supposed, was the root
of it. Or perhaps it bothered her that he had been my son. I could only
speculate.

Although I really wanted to go to Hampstead to see Sheila, I accepted

Andrew's invitation to join he and his family in Berkshire. Sheila still
hadn't returned my calls and I was keen to hear how the Spencers were
doing. I called Andrew at 10:00 and he said to wait there and he would
send a car for me. I said I was happy to take a taxi, but he wouldn't hear
of it. Later I learnt that he wanted to delay my arrival until he could get
his mother, sister and brother-in-law together to welcome me.

At 13:30, Gregory, the gardener and driver, arrived to pick me up. I was
in the in the lounge, waiting impatiently to leave Bioclyde for the second
and hopefully last time and I was looking forward to seeing the marvellous
English landscapes in Springtime.

That weekend proved to be one of the nicest I'd had since my new life had
begun, marred only by the shadow of Simon and all the unanswered
questions regarding his sudden departure from this world. On Sunday
evening, with the children already safely tucked up in bed, the family
firmly but gently bombarded me with questions. Dr Hilmarton had
contacted them on 21st May and told them that Simon's death had
occurred on 18th May, but they felt that something was missing from his
report. What had really happened? I did my best to recount everything
that had taken place since the day of the Christening. Simon's proposal
and my anger at having been so used; his astonishing offer to pay me half
a million to help him and then my, I was ashamed to say, agreement to do
so for a much higher price.

"So, you see, we struck a bargain. I'm not proud of myself, but I was
putting a price on my life. Half of me was hoping he wouldn't accept and
that would be the end of it. You see, Dr Hilmarton's information about me
was wrong. I wasn't helping Simon out of the goodness of my heart, but
because he was paying me to. That and the fact that I felt I had very little
choice in the matter in view of the fact that I could end up suffering the
same deterioration as he did.

He agreed almost instantly and had everything arranged by the following

morning. I was not afraid to die. He had had a document drawn up which
would guarantee that in the event of my death, the money would go to
my wife and daughters, so, you see, I felt that I had done the right thing. I
was at peace. It seemed a relief in many ways, to have it all coming to an
end.
When I woke up three days later to find that Simon had died... I was truly
shocked. And afraid! I thought that if Simon had had such a devastating
reaction to the procedure, that perhaps I too was in danger. But... for
better or for worse, it seems that I am in perfect health!

They transferred me to a guest room, the one where you met me, Andrew.
And after a few weeks of rehab, here I am. I must confess I am quite sad."

Afterwards it was their turn to explain a few things. They told me why Dr
Hilmarton was on sick leave. It turned out they had taken legal action
against him and it wasn't so much 'sick-leave' as 'house arrest'. An
investigation was being carried out to try to determine if there had been
any wrongdoing which had perhaps contributed to, or caused, Simon's
death.

I told them I'd felt that something strange was going on at the clinic what
with the arrival of a new head nurse and the absence Dr Hilmarton.
Added to that the fact that all the employees seemed unusually sombre,
including Mrs Adams, but even she wouldn't tell me what was going on.
No doubt afraid of losing her job if she talked too much.

Andrew told me everything that had happened on the day when he had
come to the clinic to retrieve his father's body and to see me. He had
already had some suspicions about Dr Hilmarton and, with the help of his
sister and her husband, he had arranged for a different hearse to take
Simon's body back to Berkshire, rather than using the one provided by the
clinic. Then, at the last minute and unbeknownst to Dr Hilmarton, they
had changed course and instead taken him to the morgue in Maidenhead.
They had gone ahead with the funeral in Berkshire, but it had been an
empty coffin that was lowered into the ground. Simon's body was in fact
awaiting the pathologist's statement identifying the real cause of death.

I felt rather sick at hearing how the body had been moved around so
disrespectfully. I felt a terrible stiffness in my throat and swallowed hard
as I said, "Have you forgotten that he was my son?! Couldn't you've found
a way to tell me what was going on? Didn't you trust that I'd be able to
keep it to myself? I mean, OK... I get that you couldn't understand the
nature of my feelings towards him. Did I love him, or did I hate him? But,
he was my son for God's sake!"

I stood up, rather unsteadily, and then stormed from the room. My
tantrum must have left them speechless. In truth, it had taken me by
surprise too. Did I truly feel that way? It was better that they believed me
to be devastated, though in fact I was relieved. Both happy and sad at
the same time. No wonder I was so messed up!

I switched on the radio and found a classic music station. I turned the
volume up as high as it would go and laid down on the bed. After a while,
I heard Elisabeth's voice calling me. "Mike... Please, Mike, open the door."

I got up and let her in. She was standing in a defensive posture, arms
crossed over her chest, her face tear-stained and sorrowful.

"Pray, for goodness sake, Michael. Forgive us... Please, forgive us! I am to
blame. I am the one! More than anybody else in the family. It was my
suspicions that led to our actions. Simon's death was caused either by a
mistake, or by some criminal act of that doctor. And if that latter is true,
he cannot be allowed to escape unpunished."

With her soothing words I went down to join the others, who apologised
for underestimating my feelings. They said they had waited until Sunday
to speak to me about it so that I would have the opportunity to enjoy the
weekend and relax after my taxing time at the clinic. They had wanted to
celebrate my arrival, as much as was possible while they were mourning
Simon. They begged me to stay with them until the case went to court in
two or three days and said that it was possible I might be called as a
witness. Henry, Eli's husband, was an attorney at Law and would do his
best to push the case through as quickly as possible.

Elisabeth had moved me to accept their apologies, despite my deep-

rooted Spanish respect for a dead body. It still didn't seem right to me,
but I had to put that to the back of my mind. Also, I had to understand the
logic of taking such hasty decisions in order to act without the knowledge
of Dr Hilmarton.

We had some drinks, an exceptional aged whisky kept for special

occasions, and that helped to relax me further. That and the attractive
personality of Elisabeth. Andrew told us that Henry had heard of cases
where a divorce could be cancelled should it be proven that the deceased
was of unsound mind. 'Unsound mind?' I thought. Selfish, yes, and
scheming, certainly, but unsound? Not at all! If he were declared to have
been so, Elisabeth would be Simon's widow, with all that that entailed,
and perhaps his 'gift' to me could be cancelled.

They were planning that Elisabeth would resume her position as Lady
Spencer in the Spencer House and prevent the old building from going to
waste and ruin by opening it to the public and making it available as a
venue for celebrations and business events.

On Monday Sheila called me and asked if she could possibly come over to
see me. I gave her the excuse I had planned, but she clearly found it
inadequate, for she hung up on me. I couldn't very well invite her to the
Spencer house when she believed I was in hospital! Well, I would sort it
out with her once this mess was cleared up! It seemed I was again held
hostage by the Spencer family!

Each day the two families left early for Maidenhead to go to school and
work. Elisabeth was the only one who remained at home, keeping me
company. She did a lot to help me get over everything I'd been through.
Tasty food, long walks and good conversation did me the world of good,
and after two days I even started jogging again.

One morning at around 7:00, while I was having my fruit juice in the
kitchen, Elisabeth joined me. She was wearing tight, black running
trousers and she asked me if she could join me for part of my run. I was
amazed! And of course, I said yes.
Could she ever run! She was much better than me! She told me later
that she had been a member of a sports club back in Marlborough and she
still did aerobics to keep fit. She certainly was in shape for her age,
looking more like forty than fifty-one!

The lovely week was interrupted by Harry. He called me to request my

attendance at the next board meeting, Thursday 9th June at 9:00. I was
sorry to leave this house and the pleasant company of Elisabeth. We had
become firm friends. I thought to myself, 'I could love that woman', and it
seemed to me that she liked me too.

At the office, after the initial introductions, Andrew, as the new Chairman
of the Foundation, put me forward for the position of provisional CEO of
the SSIA, which would henceforth be known as 'Spencer Co Ltd.' He
requested that all present give me their full support with the tasks ahead.
Everyone accepted quite willingly by most, though Harry Stuart expressed
some concern over my lack of experience. Andrew replied that he trusted
me to rise to the challenge and was sure that Harry, as second in
command, would give me the proper guidance.

With that settled, Andrew called an end to the meeting, and said that I
would begin my duties the following day, taking over Simon's office and
responsibilities. I thanked all the members and specially Andrew, for his
trust despite my lack of experience and assured them that I would do my
best to fill Simon's shoes.

Andrew and I then went to have lunch. We chose the restaurant just off
Primrose Hill, and I told him of the last meals his father and I had taken
there. Some of them quite pleasant, with good conversation, and others
less so. I thought about telling him that I had for some time suspected his
father of using me, giving me the job at the office simply as a means to
keeping me close and monitoring my movements, but decided I didn't
want to spoil the lunch.

Andrew told me about his childhood and how it had been to grow up in
such a grand house. They had spent a great deal of time out of doors,
roaming the grounds and horse riding. He was telling me about the
stables and the different horses they had had, when suddenly and quite
inexplicably, he stopped his story and changed the subject.

He told me how things were going with the case against Dr Hilmarton. His
licence to practise medicine had been revoked, probably forever, and
though he was now free to go out and about, he had to check in with the
local police twice a week until the case went to court. He told me that as
soon as he knew the court date he would send a barrister to train me. He
also told me that Harry had been found to be mixed up with Dr Hilmarton
in a plot to overturn the management of the Foundation and that he had
subsequently been forced to sell all his shares to Elisabeth. It seemed
likely that she would sell her share in the Marlborough chemist shop so as
to be free to manage the Spencer Estate full-time. The only snag was that
she was uncomfortable with the idea of living there alone. Andrew looked
at me enquiringly as he said this and said, "Unless you...?"

While I was pleased to receive such an offer, I was also slightly annoyed
by it. Once again it seemed that I had found myself tied to others, not
free to roam and be myself with nobody telling me what to do. After all
that had happened, autonomy was so important to me. I was still a
hostage of the Spencers. Though this part of the family were much nicer
jailers than Simon had been, with his mood swings and split personality!

Anyway, Andrew said he was sorry but he had to ask me to remain, at

least until they were able to get justice for Simon. He supposed, rightly,
that I would like to have my revenge too. Something funny had gone on
during the procedure at Bioclyde and there was no doubt in my mind that
Dr Hilmarton was at fault.

Eventually my being a hostage of the Spencers paid off. Once I had

acquired sufficient expertise in dealing with the management of the newly
named Spencer Co Ltd, and learned how to delegate to the section chiefs,
I had plenty of free time and was able to come and go of my own free will.
So, it was not so bad after all. I'd even go so far as to say that it was
good! I had George at hand to take me anywhere I wanted to go and
spent many weekends in Berkshire with Elisabeth. In many ways, she was
quite similar to her mother-in-law, Sabrina and our friendship grew quickly.
For some time, I'd been feeling something more for her than just
friendship, but I didn't dare do anything about it for fear I was misreading
the signs. In the end, it was Elisabeth who crossed the line, coming into
my room one night and getting into bed with me. And so, life had become
quite comfortable for me once more.

I thought of Simon often. He certainly had been a strange character. I

wondered if perhaps he and Dr Hilmarton had agreed that I should die
during the procedure, but that Dr Hilmarton had decided it would be more
profitable for him that Simon be the one to go, leaving him free to pursue
the management of the Foundation, of which he was a shareholder. He
hadn't counted on Elisabeth's intuition and the quick response of Simon's
children and son-in-law. Simon's body would no doubt reveal whether he
had died of heart failure, as Dr Hilmarton had said, or if it had been
something else. We knew that Dr Hilmarton had been alone with Simon at
the time of his death, at which point he had called Dr Fowler and the
nurse. I would have to discuss the matter with Andrew.

I heard nothing more from Sheila after that last phone call when she had
hung up on me, but her brother Jock did get in touch with me a little while
later. I was both happy and sad to hear that she had found a nice man to
share her life with. She must've realised that the prospect of settling
down with me was rather flimsy, with my constant comings and goings. I
had wanted to be honest with her, but had never told her my real age or
the truth about what I'd been through. She was no longer working at the
Aberdeen, choosing instead to concentrate wholly on dancing. Despite
that, I went there frequently to have a chat with her brother, Jock, and a
beer and a bite to eat. I missed her a lot, but accepted that she had
moved on.
With Elisabeth everything was different. She knew all about my adventure
and the dramatic increase in my life expectancy and how it had all begun
years ago with Sabrina. Our outlooks and expectations were quite similar.
She accepted quite willingly that I wanted to travel to Spain on family
matters and there was no jealousy during my absences. She had fallen
easily back into the role of Lady Spencer, though technically speaking it
had never been made official. No mention had been made of Simon's
suspected 'insanity' and so the divorce was still valid, but to all intents
and purposes, she was the Lady of the Estate.

Elisabeth showed me around every crevice of the old house, including

Sabrina's bedroom, still full of her souvenirs and family photos. There
were pictures of her mother, who had died when she was quite young, of
her father Sir Patrick, an army colonel, and of Sabrina and her brother Roy.
There were a number of photos of them on horseback and Elisabeth told
me the sad story of what had happened to Sabrina's brother, Roy.

Though they had both been skilful riders, there had been a terrible
accident. They were out jumping obstacles in the country, Roy chasing his
sister, when his horse stumbled over fence. Roy came off the horse and
landed badly. He was not wearing a helmet and landed headfirst on a
rock, crushing his skull and killing him instantly. That had happened in
July 1960, when he was just nineteen. It seemed that Sabrina had been
challenging him. She loved her brother deeply and blamed herself for the
accident.

Her father, Patrick, had come from some far away post for to attend his
son's funeral, but owing to his army duties, he had had to leave again
soon afterwards. Elisabeth had been left in the care of the housekeeper,
Anne, and the steward, Mr Humphrey. They did their best to take care of
her, but it was no substitute for a father and mother and she could not
overcome the loss of her brother, nor the guilt that she carried with her for
her part in it.
She slipped into a deep depression and spent most of the time alone in
her room. She would go for days without seeing anyone or eating
anything. When they asked her to open the door, she cried that she
would do so only after they killed or sold the horses, for she couldn't bear
to look at them. At length, she emerged from her room, but would talk to
no-one and existed on a diet of fruit and milk. She refused to continue her
studies at St Anne's College, Oxford, where she had been studying
architecture.

Finally, her father was called to intervene. He came back from his posting
in Egypt, but could not stay long, and even he couldn't convince her to
continue with her studies. It was decided that she would go to work in
London for some friends of friends. The agency was Coopervilla and she
worked hard from June 1960 until 1962, when she returned home
pregnant with Simon.

It seemed that being a mother restored some of the happiness she had
lost, but there was still an emptiness within her. She dedicated herself to
being the best mother she could, but cared little for her own social life,
which was all but nonexistent. When Simon grew up and started going to
school in Berkshire, she did take up a few hobbies, but with little
enthusiasm. She had no friends. No boyfriends. With the constant and
undivided attention of his mother, Simon grew up spoilt and capricious.
He was a keen hunter and would dissect the rabbits and deer that he
caught. It was no wonder that he pursued a career in medicine!

A few years after his last visit, Sir Patrick died from some epidemic in a
hospital in Cairo. As the illness was contagious, the authorities ordered
that the body be incinerated, along with the many others who had fallen
victim to the contagion. Sabrina travelled to Cairo to collect her father's
ashes and his last Will and Testament. He had named her as the sole heir
to his fortune and property and she returned to England to take the reins
of the management of the Spencer Estate. She loved the house and
dedicated the rest of her life to its upkeep.
Sabrina pretty much gave Simon free reign of the estate, allowing him to
invest the money in whatever way he chose. Mr Humphrey, the steward,
turned out to be quite an astute businessman and advised Simon to buy
shares in the new hospital which was being built in Somerford, specialising
in geriatrics. He later created the Spencer Foundation in order to benefit
from government tax breaks and used that to purchase a majority share in
the Bioclyde clinic.

I told Elisabeth that the office where Sabrina had worked after the death
of her brother was the same office that I had worked for, Coopervilla. I
had worked there from November 1961 to November 1966 and that was
where I had met Sabrina. She was a plain looking woman, older than me,
always dressed in dark, baggy clothes, with a prickly exterior. I had never
given her a second look, instead choosing to flirt with the crowd of
attractive young girls that worked there. It wasn't until that chance trip
from France to Spain that we had got to know each other and I had seen
beyond the cold outer shell that she chose to present to the rest of the
world.

So, Elisabeth and I shared out stories and the story of Sabrina too. We
were bound together to some extent by our shared history and for the
most part, we lived quite happily together. I had, aside from occasional
trips back, more or less abandoned Spain but, despite my best efforts to
fit in, I still felt like a foreigner in the Spencer house . My English was
excellent, but not on the level of the English aristocracy with which
Elisabeth was used to keeping company. She was an avid entertainer and
there was rarely a weekend that passed without some social gathering.
Try as I might, I simply didn't fit in. It wasn't long before I began to excuse
myself from these occasions, saying I had some business to attend to.

I found that I was pretty busy with work, but whenever I had time on my
hands I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow wasting the extra
time I'd been given. I didn't have a great deal of leisure time and, despite
my appearance, I was an old man! I felt more and more that I could
understand Simon's behaviour, letting his work commitments slow him
down from taking care of his physical priorities.

I tried to be content, but I felt quite unsettled. I rarely went jogging

anymore and missed the rush that it used to give me. I felt nervous and
prone to hypochondria. Would my health begin to decline soon? Dr
Hilmarton had assured me that I was out of danger, but... how could he be
trusted?!

The future was unclear. Moneywise, I had more than enough to live on
until I was a hundred, but I didn't know where to base myself. I had
friends in Hampstead and felt at ease there, but I had lost Sheila. Jock
had told me that she'd given up dancing, not wanting to compete with
those much younger than she, and that she was in a committed
relationship with someone. I blamed myself for not having contacted her
in a timely manner upon my return to London, and then for refusing to see
her when I was in the hospital.

Jock, hostile at first, understood what had happened, as far as I'd been
able to tell him. Of course, he didn't know all the details, but he did know
that I had sincerely wished to get back in touch with Sheila, but had been
unable to see her due to an accident. I had told him that I had been quite
upset, both physically and mentally, by the loss of a good friend who had
been with me in the accident. I asked him to tell Sheila how sorry I was
and to ask her to forgive me. She was, in the end, the one I had loved the
best, and I hated to think that she was somewhere thinking badly of me.
The rest of my life now was a masquerade. I couldn't be myself, truly.
Elisabeth knew my history and, though that provided a certain freedom, I
longed for a life where I was just 'Michael'. Where the surgery was not
known; where I wasn't judged for my previous actions; where I was free to
be myself. Sheila knew nothing of my background. Our age gap, as far as
my new ID showed, was not too insurmountable. I, fifty-eight and she
thirty-nine. And I had another thirty to forty years in front of me,
accidents aside. But it was too late. She had moved on, and though I
missed her, I hoped that she had found happiness.
Finally, in may 2020, on my sixtieth birthday, according to my new body
clock, I asked Andrew to accept my resignation. I was doing a good job as
CEO of Spencer Co Ltd, but I knew I was not indispensable. After a brief
period of upset they would soon find a suitable replacement and things
would continue as they always had.

I was alone. I belonged nowhere. I considered leaving Europe. Perhaps

Australia? Jock had told me that if I left I should stay in touch by email
and that, if his sister's feelings were to soften, he'd be in touch to tell me
to come back. Or perhaps for her to go and join me. Australia, he felt,
would be the perfect place for his sister. Melbourne was full of Scots and
the atmosphere would suit her well. I hardly dared to hope, but he told
me that, in his opinion, she had never been happier than when she was
with me, so... why shouldn't it happen?!

- T he E N D -

---------------------------------------------------

Epilogue

Michael had been recovering at the Spencer house after his stressful
second clinical procedure, where the family, Elisabeth in particular, gently
persuaded him to stay and wait until he was called as a witness for the
prosecution against Dr Hilmarton.

He attended the preliminary hearings, where he only had to answer the

questions he had rehearsed with the prosecutor. It wasn't necessary for
him to narrate the full course of events, but merely to fill in the gaps in
their knowledge. The prosecutor requested a harsh sentence as there
were various charges against the doctor and then all that was left was to
await the decision of the jury.

With his testimony over, Michael resumed work at the newly named
Spencer Co. Ltd. He wished to retire before long, a fact he had discussed
with Andrew Spencer, and he felt his grandson understood and accepted
his decision. Harry, together with David, was working closely with all the
firms agencies and business was profitable.

It was in May 2020 that he asked Andrew to accept his resignation as CEO
of Spencer Co. Ltd. Though disappointed, Andrew had known that
Michael's time at the company would be short and so he had no choice
but to accept. He had been feeling tired for some time now and
experiencing rather more headaches than he thought was normal. He
feared, though he kept it to himself, that although his body was still
strong, his mental agility was declining. Perhaps it was a temporary break
down that he would overcome with some rest, but perhaps not. He
suspected that his brain was continuing to age at its normal rate and that
in that respect, he was still an eighty-five year old man.

As Simon had admitted to being Michael's son, his lawyers confirmed that
he was entitled to inherit a third of his fortune. In view of the considerable
size of that fortune, Andrew and his brother-in-law Henry, the barrister,
were doing their best to convince him to become a shareholder, stressing
the point that he would not be able to take his money out of the country.
This, of course, was just a threat. Michael knew they were trying to bully
him and was undeterred. Annoyed by their attitude, he told them he
would ponder his decision, but that for the time being he wanted enough
cash with which to buy a house in Spain. He said he wished to go back to
his roots and they agreed to let him have 2 million. The check was
issued right away and the following day Michael headed to London to pay
in the check. He went first to Charing Cross by taxi; from there he took
the tube to Baker Street and from then another taxi to the City. He
thought it best to be cautious in case he was being followed.

Although he was quite satisfied with his decision and was looking forward
to a long weekend at his Hampstead apartment, he accepted the
invitation to spend it instead at the Spencer House. On Friday morning he
took his Audi 6 and drove to Berkshire, more than anything to enjoy the
soothing company of Elisabeth. He had been attracted to her from the
beginning. The charming 'Lady Spencer', as she was known to the staff.

However, once there he began to regret his decision. Why had he not
foreseen this?! They invested all their energy in trying to convince him to
stay with the family and remain part of the Foundation. They appealed to
his desire to spend time with his grandchildren, assuring him that he
would always have a place there with the Spencer family.

They were all greatly relieved when he gave in and agreed to spend a few
more days with them, supposing they would now have a greater
opportunity to change his mind about leaving. It was here that they made
a fatal mistake. Not knowing him as well as they thought, they decided to
throw a party in his honour. There were so many guests and all of them
eager to hear as much as possible about his plans for the immediate
future. He felt bombarded. Under siege! He was barely able to make it
through the evening and this made him seriously doubt his ability to
endure life there with the Spencer's.

The maintenance of the stately house was expensive. Henry said they
could very well avoid government taxes by converting it into one of the
Foundation activities and including it in the Bill of Exception of public
utility. In this way, with the house being used as a regular venue for
receptions given by Elisabeth and Michael, instead of costing money, the
house would make a profit. Michael was aghast at the thought of being
expected to host grand receptions on a regular basis and said that he
thought surely Elisabeth would be more suited to do it alone, given her
lifelong dedication to the upkeep of the house. Afterwards they changed
the subject, but it had begun a train of thought which Michael could not
dismiss.

At these parties there were always a lot of people asking about his
background. He knew that someday the truth would come out. If his real
age should be discovered, he could be accused of using false documents!
It was that thought that ultimately made up his mind. He couldn't risk
continuing with the Spencer's. He would simply have to return to life as
the plain gentleman he had been before this whole adventure had started.

On the Tuesday afternoon he told Elisabeth that he'd been called back to
the London office and he headed back to his comfortable apartment in
Hampstead. He was preparing his escape! He knew the tricks of the
trade, and had ordered his contact to prepare him a fake passport. Three
days later he met his contact in Soho and picked up the passport before
heading into the City and transferring the majority of his funds, some 2.5
million, to a numbered account in Panama under his new name, Daniel
Gomez Sanz.
On Friday, after making sure that everything was ready and he had made
no mistakes which would enable him to be traced, he took the remainder
of his cash and took an unmarked minicab to Gatwick Airport. From there
he flew to Orly, where he took another taxi to a Paris hotel where Henry
Dickson was waiting for him. With his help, he was going to simply get
lost and disappear!

He was alone. He didn't belong anywhere. He thought about leaving

Europe and going somewhere like New Zealand or Australia. He had kept
in touch with Jock, who told him that Sheila was going out with one of her
old dance partners and seldom went to the Aberdeen. He said he would
work on Sheila and try to convince her to join him in due course. He
thought Australia would be good for Sheila as there were a lot of Scots in
and around Melbourne and the atmosphere would suit her well. He
assured him that Sheila had never been happier than when she was with
him.

Michael felt bad for deceiving Jock, but had ultimately decided that it
would be for the best to sever all ties in England and Spain. He knew full
well what happened to agents once they left the business. And he knew
too much! He knew they would try to locate him and what better way to
do that than through the friends he had made here? He told his family the
same story; that he was most likely heading to Australia and would keep
them informed of his whereabouts. In reality, who knew where he would
end up?!

After following the guidelines of others for most of his life, he had finally
made his own choice. He was finally escaping the labyrinth that had so
neatly trapped him eight years ago. With few exceptions, he wouldn't be
missed.

He already felt stronger, and promised himself to resume his jogging

along the Seine tomorrow. He still missed Sheila, but felt that his decision
was for the best. He promised himself that, for the moment at least, he
would avoid any romantic entanglements.

Had it been true, or had he dreamt it all?

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