

### THE DEVIL'S FOOD

by

Stephen Gereg

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 Stephen Gereg

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Author's Message

# Chapter 1

It was over. A few gentle squeezes of the trigger of the Smith and Wesson 38 calibre revolver were all it took. It was also about all that Michael Jansen could manage. It was so very hard for him to keep focused on his victim. He was so weak that leaving the scene of the crime seemed impossible.

Farley was dead. Michael knew he was dead. He knew this because he'd fired six bullets into Farley's chest. He was lying motionless on the ground. Michael walked as quickly as he could out of the lane onto a main street. At this time of the morning, the streets were almost empty. He knew he should hail a taxi as soon as he could. However, there was something else he just had to do. He had to eat. He had just killed a man he didn't even know. The police would soon blanket the area. And yet he had to eat. He struggled to walk to a nearby café and threw himself in a booth seat situated along a wall. With great effort, he ordered breakfast. By now, Michael imagined that a few people gathered around the dead man. He knew someone would have phoned the police. Surely, someone had seen him do the deed or at least noticed him walking. Soon, the police would find him in the café. These things didn't matter very much to Michael right now. What mattered was that the waitress had finally placed his plate on the table.

Although he wanted to tear into the eggs, sausage and bacon with his bare hands wolfing it down in a few bites, he willed himself to cut a bite-size piece of sausage with his knife. He forced himself to lift only this morsel into his mouth. He struggled to chew it a few times before swallowing. Merciful heaven! Was it good! He painstakingly cut some fried egg and consumed it. He couldn't believe the pleasure! By sheer willpower he ate slowly- the wonderful egg, the magnificent sausage, stewed tomato, bacon and buttered toast. Then he realized that the food would bring no strength to his body. He broke down in tears wiping his eyes with his hands.

Just as he had figured, three policemen swiftly entered the café. They surveyed the few breakfast diners. They went to the counter and questioned the manageress and waitress. Once again they looked over the café. One of them approached a couple at a table in the middle of the room. Another went to a single diner in a booth. The third came up to Michael.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. We need some information," he inquired urgently.

Michael looked up at him and replied, "Yes. Of course, Officer."

"A man's been shot dead. Did you see anyone on the street that may have had anything to do with it?" he asked.

"No, sir. I didn't see anyone that looked suspicious," Michael explained truthfully.

"Did you notice any vehicle that was speeding away or anyone get into a car and drive off?"

"I didn't notice anything unusual in that regard, Officer."

The constable drew out a notepad and pen ordering, "Identification, please."

Michael reached in his trousers for his wallet slowly and deliberately. He presented his driving licence. The office inspected it writing, his name in the notepad.

"Is this your correct address?" he asked.

"It is."

The PC copied in a few more lines in his notebook and then said, "You may be contacted later by an Inspector. You're free to go, for now."

"Thank you, sir," was all Michael could say as the officer joined his two comrades. They left as quickly as they had entered.

Michael reached for his mobile. He dialed Leon's number. A voice answered.

"Mr Jansen. I trust you've had a good time in Glasgow. How are we today? Hungry?"

Michael ignored the taunt, spurting out, "I did your dirty work. Farley's dead. Now it's time for you to get these things out of me and my wife."

"What's the hurry? I'm sure you and your beloved can last a bit longer. It's only been a week," teased the voice with a chuckle.

"Leon, please!" Michael pleaded.

"I suppose I shouldn't toy with you, should I? I hope this little exercise makes it even clearer to you the immense power that being with the Company can give. You may have power over any number of individuals in the same way I have. But we've been over that before. I'll have a Member check if he's really dead, though I'm sure you wouldn't lie about such an important event. Congratulations on not being caught, as well. That should make both of us feel more confident about you joining the Company. Meet me at Tooting Bec Tube station at five tonight. You have ample time to get to London. Bring the wife and we'll have a good time."

"Does that mean you'll do what you said?"

"Of course, Mr Jansen, I wouldn't want you to think the Company reneges on its promises. Now, do I? Be there at five", the voice said as the line went dead.

He dialed Grace's mobile number fumbling several times as his hands shook in weakness. The phone rang and rang. He began to panic. She had to be there!

Finally, a woman's voice answered.

"Michael!"

"Grace! Hold on a little longer, dear. I've done it. Leon wants us to meet him at Tooting Bec underground station tonight at five. I'm going to catch the one-thirty flight home. He's going to reverse the process. We'll be alright."

There was a long pause on the line as she replied, "Will he? How do we know? Maybe he's just going to torture us some more. We're never going to get rid of him. We're going to die. I know it. That bastard's going to..."

"Quiet! It's our only hope. Even if he does nothing else, we can't be worse off than we are now. I'll be home on as soon as possible.

After another pause, she said, "Okay. I'll try to get some clothes on."

"See you soon."

He put the phone back in his pocket, got up, went to the counter and paid the bill. He mustered every bit of energy he had left to walk out of the café. He searched for a taxi. After his ravaged body could no longer carry on, one appeared. He hailed it, agonizingly forcing his limbs to function as he threw himself into the seat. As the cab drove off, Michael drifted into a foggy reverie recalling just how it all started.

# Chapter 2

As Michael made his way back to his the room that served as his office, his wife Grace met him coming from the kitchen. She was dressed in her housecoat and slippers. He had always hated that particular housecoat because it did nothing to flatter Grace's figure. For a woman in her fifties and not that tall, she carried little surplus weight. Her short, graying hair was in some disarray as she had taken a nap right after dinner.

"Say, Mike, uh, we don't have any milk for breakfast tomorrow," she remarked quietly.

"How'd that happen?" he queried.

"I don't know, dear. Do be a lamb and walk to the shop for me. I've been on my feet all day."

"I may as well. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

Grace looked at her husband of twenty years. He'd gained a little here and lost a little there since they first met. For a man of fifty-five, she still thought he was quite handsome, especially with that wicked smile of his. She blew him a kiss and then went back to the telly in the living room.

He donned his overcoat against the chill winter air. The shop where the Jansens' did most of their late night shopping was about ten minutes' away. It was a good safe trek on well-lit streets. Michael relished the fresh breeze and the crisp air on this fine, dry night.

He had almost arrived at the shop, when he happened to glance down an alley the intersected his path. There in the shadows, two youths were heatedly confronting another man who appeared to be well dressed in suit and tie. The youths were both bigger than the other man. Michael had always been enraged at the behaviour of these types of 'neds'. He thought it would probably be wiser to just ignore what was happening and walk on. For some reason, he turned into the alley.

"Yo. What's going on here?" he asked as he advanced on the youths.

The youths who had been confronting the smaller man looked up to see Michael coming towards them. Michael was over six feet tall and in his youth had played prop forward for his school team. He outweighed either of them. The one nearest to Michael looked at his mate. They both started running down the alley away from him as fast as their legs could carry them.

He came up to the well-dressed man, asking, "Are you all right, sir?"

The man regarded Michael with a surprising expression of anger, blurting out, "Of course, I'm alright. Why did you scare away the lads? We were discussing some important business."

Taken aback by the man's indignation, he replied, "I thought they were going mug you."

The man burst out laughing as he replied, "You thought I was in danger from those two?"

Michael answered, "Yes, that's what it looked like to me."

The paused a moment as if deep in thought, then said politely, "Looks can be deceiving. No bother, though. May I have a quick word with you? It's important."

"No bother. Go ahead."

"Not here. Let's go to my car. It's just parked on the street there."

Now it was Michael's turn to pause, after which he replied, "Okay."

The man held out his hand, saying, "Call me, Leon. And you are....?"

"Michael Jansen," he replied shaking Leon's hand.

"Don't like your first name. Do you mind if I call you Mr Jansen?"

"Fine"

They walked out of the alley and down the street for a short distance. Leon led him to a brand new Jaguar saloon, ushered him into the rear seat and followed him in. He relaxed in the plush leather seats.

Leon reached into his coat pocket as if to fetch a cigarette case. Quick as a flash, he produced a pencil-like tube the end of which he pressed against Michael's upper arm. Michael was so amazed by what happened that he barely felt a sting in his arm. Within seconds, he felt extremely relaxed.

Leon put away the tube and explained, "You'll be completely paralyzed for a few minutes. You won't even be able to talk. I can't risk you panicking on me like those two. Before you rudely interrupted me, I was about to employ those two young men in a bit of work. But since it was your fault I can't use them, now you've been picked to do their work. Now, you may think you might refuse to do what I ask. However, I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

Leon opened a seat compartment. He brought out another tube a bit larger in diameter than the other. Again, he pressed the tube to Michael's arm. Michael felt the prick. He couldn't move a muscle to do anything to stop Leon. He tried to speak but was unable.

"I've just implanted a device that will boggle your mind. This implant has now made it impossible for you to assimilate nutrients from your food. You may eat till you're bursting. Your digestive tract will process and eliminate the waste. However, no nutrition will take place. Water absorption is unaffected. No matter what you eat you will not receive any benefit. Drinking high calorie glucose drinks will not help you. Even intravenous injection of nutrients will not be assimilated. If the implant is surgically removed by anyone else but me, you will never be able to absorb nutrients again. The implant is like a switch. It has turned off your absorption of nutrients. Remove it yourself and your body remains in that condition. If I remove it, the switch will turn your system back on as normal. You're able to blink Mr Jansen. So, blink twice if you understand me so far."

Michael found he could blink. He did so twice.

"Good, good. I'm glad you're not a complete idiot like many of the people I have to deal with," said Leon as he began to rummage through Michael's trouser pockets.

Finding his wallet, noting the photos of Michael's family inside, he remarked, "Don't worry. I'm not interested in robbing you. I just want to find out a bit about you. I see from you driving licence that you live very close by. Is that right?"

Michael blinked twice.

"And I see photos of a wife and family. They're quite old, aren't they? I suppose, judging from your age that the children have all gone. But the wife is probably stilI living with you. I'm sure you love your wife, don't you, Mr Jansen?"

Michael did not blink. Instead, he closed his eyes, keeping them shut.

"Come, come. Mr Jansen. There's no reason not to be forthcoming with the truth. We'll be visiting her soon anyway."

Michael opened his eyes wide in fear.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt her. However, she will be a bit of insurance that you'll perform your required task. Like you, I'll implant one of these devices in her. That should help you to complete the task. I suppose the sight of seeing your wife starving to death is not one you would relish. Is it, Mr Jansen?

Michael's eyes stared malevolently at the other man.

"Of course not. That's why they'll be all the more reason for you to carry out your assignment. Mind if I smoke. I guess you don't," laughed Leon as he reached in his coat pocket, taking out a silver cigar case.

From the case he withdrew a short, crooked, black cigar which he immediately lit with a gas lighter. As he puffed, smoke filled the Jag's passenger compartment. Michael involuntarily coughed as the fumes from the cigar seemed both unpleasant and overwhelming.

Assured he had a good light, Leon continued, "Now about your task. There's a man whom we shall call Mr X. This man has been a hindrance to the people I represent. We feel he will be a thorn in our side if he is allowed to continue on. Therefore, your task, Mr Jansen, will be to eliminate this man. Blink twice if you understand."

Michael closed his eyes once more, holding them shut.

"It's very simple," Leon said as he puffed heavily on his cigar, "You and your wife's lives for his. I have the power to force you to do my bidding. You complete the job and I'll reverse the process that's going on within you. You'll be back to normal. Fail to kill Mr X and both you and your wife starve to death. Very painfully, I might add. We've got little time to waste."

Leon fastened the rear seat belt around Michael, got out of the back of the car. Taking the driving seat, he started the Jaguar and pulled out into the street still puffing furiously on his crooked cigar. In a few moments, he parked in front of Michael's home. He turned off the engine and got out, stamping out his smoke on the pavement. He went to the front door. Michael saw him ring the doorbell. He saw Grace answer the door. He tried to scream to warn her but he could not. He noted Leon pointing to the car. He saw him press a small tube against Grace's arm and then catch her as she collapsed in his arms. He saw him take her into the house. He shut his eyes, as if by doing so, what he saw would miraculously un-happen.

His eyes were still shut when he heard Leon's footsteps returning to the car. He got back into the rear seat, took out a black tube and pressed it to Michael's arm.

"This will remove your paralysis. We've got to get in the house so I can give you some more instructions."

Immediately, Michael felt strength returning to his body. He made a quick grab for his captor's throat with intention to throttle him. Quick as lightning, Leon's hands closed on Michael's wrists like iron bands. Try as he could, he couldn't move his hands.

As he held Michael in a vise grip, Leon ordered, "No heroics. If I want to, I can snap your neck like a twig. So behave. I want you healthy for your assignment. Let's go. And no trouble."

Finding he could speak, Michael replied, "Okay, no trouble."

"That's better," Leon said as he released Michael's wrists.

They exited the car, entering the house. Michael saw Grace sitting calmly on the sofa. He knew Leon had also paralyzed her. Her eyes moved nervously, darting between Leon and himself. He began to go to her. Leon's hand grasped his arm.

"Not yet! Let me explain some things to your wife. Mrs Jansen, your husband will fill you in with all the details. I just want you to remember that your lives depend on what he does. So help him as much as you can. And do it fast," he said as he moved close to her once again pressing a tube against her arm.

Michael thought about trying to stop him but he figured the drug had made him quite weak. Leon put the tube back in his coat pocket.

"I've got to go. She'll be able to move in a few seconds. I've already implanted the device in her. It's up to you now. Phone me at this number tomorrow at ten exactly. I'll give you more instructions," he said as he handed Michael a business card.

"But I don't know where to find this guy. I don't know how to kill anybody. I..."

Leon interrupted as he headed out the door, "Tomorrow. Tonight, talk to your wife. Discuss it among yourselves. It's all quite unbelievable. When you feel the hunger, then you'll believe. Don't talk to anybody else about this. Especially the police. That'll just slow you down. They won't believe you. And remember you only have so much time before you'll be too weak to do this. Tomorrow at ten."

# Chapter 3

Grace Jansen came back to normal a few seconds after Leon went out the door. Her first reaction was to leap off the sofa and into her husband's arms.

"Who was that? What's going on, Michael?" she asked once they faced each other.

Michael quickly turned away from her. He went to the window. "Let's get his registration number."

Together they peered out the glass. There was no car there.

"He must've run to get away so fast," Michael noted with amazement.

"Mike, please. What has he got to do with us? "

Taking her hand, he led her back to the sofa. He sat beside her.

"It all sounds so crazy- so unbelievable. I was on my way to the shop, when I saw two unsavoury -looking youths apparently giving that man some trouble. I went down the alley to assist him. They ran away. He seemed irritated at me for trying to help. He said he wanted to discuss something with me. We went to his car."

Grace interrupted, "You should've known better than to do that."

"I know that now. But he was most persuasive. I got in next to him. He injected me with that paralysis drug, just like he did you. How do you feel now?"

"Fine. There's no hint of paralysis now. But for a few minutes, I couldn't move a muscle. I couldn't even speak. The antidote worked in a few seconds."

"That's exactly what happened to me, except I was paralyzed for a much longer time. Whatever it was, it's definitely something completely new and probably top-secret. But, back to what happened. He injected me a second time using another tube-like thing. Did he do the same with you?"

"Yes. I thought that so strange."

"You're sure it was a different injector that the paralysis one?"

"Yes. It was. The paralysis antidote was the third shot. What was in that second shot?"

"That's the incredible part. He claimed it stopped us from being able to digest food. No, not digest, assimilate, was his word."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that whatever we eat won't provide nutrition. From the time he injected us, we've begun to starve to death."

Grace paused as she tried to understand. It all seemed so incredible. "Preposterous! Nobody has that kind of technology."

"But dear, what about the paralysis jag? That drug froze all our muscles; yet let us remains conscious and breathing. We could even move our eyes and blink. If the man has access to this kind of drug, then maybe what he said is true."

"Maybe. But why did he do it?

"That's the strangest thing about all this. He told me I'll have to kill someone before he reverses the starvation process-someone who is working against the company he works for."

Grace shook her head, saying, "It's all too much. Let's contact Fred right now and have the chap lifted. Then we'll be able to find out what his game is. Too bad you didn't get his number plate."

"I don't think that's a wise idea. We can't give Fred and his inspector chums any way to track the man down. No number plate. Nothing but a name 'Leon' who smoked truly rotten cigars. Say wait! There is a way to track him," Michael said as he rose from the sofa.

"What do you mean?" Grace asked as she stood up.

"I need a small plastic bag. A sandwich bag will do."

"What are you talking about?"

"As he got out of his car to go to the front door, I saw him stub out a cigar he'd been smoking. He may've left fingerprints on it. His DNA from his saliva will be on it, as well."

Michael went to the kitchen. He found the roll of plastic sandwich bags he'd been looking for. He went out the front door -down to the street where Leon had parked his car. He picked up the stubbed- out cigar using another plastic bag to avoid any contamination. He put the crooked cigar into the bag and returned to the living room.

"Got it! I will contact Fred tomorrow. Before I phone that Leon at ten."

"What about work?"

"I'll just have to take tomorrow off. I want to clear this matter up. After all, we can't just have some gangster drug us, enter our home, and tell me I have to become an assassin or you and I will starve to death."

"I'll go to work though. Okay? What do we do tonight?

"I suggest we put him to the test. Let's have a supper tonight and a good breakfast tomorrow. Let's see if he really is telling the truth about this starvation caper," Michael said as he took Graces hands in his.

"Right. I'll put a couple of eggs on the boil, make some toast and tea."

"Sounds great. Let's have an early night. I've got a lot to do tomorrow."

Their supper had to be eaten accompanied by black tea-Michael hadn't got to the shop for the milk Grace had asked him to get. The soft-boiled eggs, toast and jam were well appreciated. They went to bed after tea. Cuddling together, neither was in the mood for sex because of the events of the last few hours. Their sleep was fitful-neither seemed able to rest easy. Michael attributed this to emotion or perhaps a lingering effect from the drugs that Leon had injected into them.

At seven, the clock radio activated. They both got up. Grace had to be at work for nine. Michael phoned his office, taking a day's sick leave. While Grace showered, he prepared breakfast of orange juice, toast and tea.

As Grace emerged from the bedroom, dressed and ready for breakfast, he asked, "How are you feeling today? Any side -effects from yesterday?"

"No. I feel normal. Hungry."

"Me, as well. Tuck in."

They ate in silence, finishing off with black tea. Grace applied her make-up and by half- eight was ready to go. They embraced once again-unusual for them in the morning. However, these were unusual times.

As Michael held his wife at arms' length, he said, "I feel like eating out for dinner. Could you meet me at 'Armando's' at half -six? I'll try to bring Fred along. We can tell you the results of what happened today."

She replied smiling, "That would be lovely. I'll be there."

Michael watched her go out the door, get in the car and drive off. He realized he loved her more now than he ever had after all these years. A great wave of anger swept over him as he remembered that Leon had violated her with his drugs and malevolent presence. He knew he would do anything he could to rid their lives of this despicable creature.

# Chapter 4

Now that Grace was gone, he phoned Fred at home, hoping he hadn't left for the station. After several rings, he was rewarded to hear his brother-in-law's voice loud and clear. He'd always respected his wife's younger brother, not only for the kind of man he was but also for the loving relationship he had with Grace.

"DCI Plummer."

"Fred. It's Mike here."

"Hi, Mike. Why do you honour me so early in the morning?"

"Sorry, Fred. Something's come up. I need to talk with you, kind of, outwith your official capacity, so to speak."

"What is it all about, Mike?"

"I don't want to go into it over the phone. It could turn out to be serious. All I can say is that I'm afraid for Grace and myself and would like your advice as soon as possible. Could we meet for lunch?"

Fred broke a long moment of silence on the line, "Right. How about meeting me at 'Sandy's' at one."

"Great! 'Sandy's' at one. See you then. And thanks. Really. You're a life-saver," a relieved Michael replied.

"Goodbye, Mike."

Michael had over an hour before he was to phone Leon. He busied himself with getting ready for the day. First, he stripped to shower. This allowed him to inspect the places where Leon had injected the paralyzing drug, its antidote and the 'device' that was supposed to prohibit uptake of nutrition from food. He felt no pain or any sensation from these injection points. He inspected his left upper arm, the site of the paralyzing 'shot' and his right upper arm where the other two injections had taken place. Strangely, there was no mark on either arm-not even redness. He carefully and repeatedly palpated his right arm in order to feel the 'device' that Leon had said he'd implanted. He felt nothing. His arms felt completely normal. He had no soreness and no restriction of normal use. The addition of soap and hot water during his shower produced no sign that any kind of injection or implantation had occurred.

These negative findings did more to worry Michael than if he'd found something. He hadn't dreamed the events of last night. He had been unable to move anything but his eyes just after Leon pressed that tube against his arm. He'd been released from paralysis after Leon pressed the same or another tube against his other arm. It wasn't hypnosis. There were no illusions. It happened. What kind of syringe or injection pump doesn't leave any mark? What kind of 'device' capable of nullifying the human body's nutrition system can be so small as to be impalpable? He wished now that he'd asked Grace if she had found any marks of the injections on her arms. He wanted to phone her at work. However, it could wait till she came home. He dressed in denim trousers and comfy shirt, glad that he need not wear a tie today.

Something else was beginning to bother him. He felt distinctly light-headed, especially when rising to a standing position. He also felt very hungry even though he'd had a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, two large slices of toast with jam and butter and a cup of tea. Yet, he felt as if he hadn't eaten anything in the morning. He told himself that he must be giving in to the power of Leon's suggestion. Yes, that was it.

As he got ready to make the call to Leon, he placed the plastic bag with Leon's half-smoked cigar and the business card Leon had given him in his briefcase, which he'd placed open on the kitchen table. He made sure to grasp this card by the edges so that all of Leon's fingerprints could be lifted. The small, white card was blank except for a mobile phone number printed on one side.

At precisely ten, sitting at the table, he phoned the number using his mobile. After five rings, Leon's voice answered.

"Hello"

"Leon? It's Michael Jansen.

"Mr Jansen. Right on time. I like that. Punctuality is a good trait for a colleague to have."

"I'm not your colleague," spat Michael sharply.

"You're not? But I'm sure you will be. How are you feeling? A bit peckish even though I'm sure you've eaten well since our little encounter yesterday?

"Don't worry about that. Just give me the information you said you would."

"But I do worry about you, Mr Jansen. You're important to me. And so is your wife. I think we'll be great colleagues despite your misgivings."

"Look. Never mind the chitchat. Just tell me what I need to know."

Leon replied irritably, "One thing you must understand, Mr Jansen, is that you're not in a position to order me about. I'm in that enviable position. You have no power over me at all. I control you to some extent now and I will control you as if you're a puppet on a string. I suppose that just hasn't dawned on you yet."

Michael answered softly, "I'm sorry for being so brusque. I just want your instructions as to what I'm supposed to do."

"Yes, of course. However, perhaps it's a bit too early in our relationship for all that. I don't think you're listening to your body as well as you might. It's telling you that it's hungry and needs food but isn't getting any. You're just not hungry enough. Therefore, I'm going to postpone any instructions until this time tomorrow. By that time I'm sure you won't be able to ignore the signals your body is sending. And neither will your wife."

"But tell me what I need to know now!" interrupted Michael.

"Sorry. Be sure to listen to your wife when she tells you how she feels. That should help to convince you. So, phone me at exactly ten tomorrow. Take a note of my new mobile number."

"Hold on while get a pen and paper," he answered as he got a pen and scrap of paper.

"I expected you to be much better prepared than this, Mr Jansen," he replied as he read off the mobile phone number.

Michael scrawled the number down repeating it back for safety.

"That's correct. Tomorrow at ten precisely. Goodbye, Mr Jansen."

The phone went dead. Michael re-dialed the number. He got a message saying that Leon's mobile was switched off. Truly disturbed by Leon's attitude, Michael threw his mobile down roughly on the table and rose from his chair. Again, as he got up, he became quite faint. Going to the refrigerator, he took out a jug of milk. Pouring himself a large glass, he opened a cupboard and found a 'Snickers' bar- just the thing for quick energy. He savoured the confection in only four installments, washing it down with the milk.

He went to the living room. Since he didn't have to leave the house till about half-twelve to be on time for his meeting with Fred, he thought he might relax to some music. He searched for what he wanted to hear. However, he couldn't find it. Grace was always using a CD and not replacing it. He cursed and swore for several seconds. He was amazed that such a small thing as not readily finding a particular CD could be a reason for such an outburst. Then, he found it. It was there all along. He was sorry for the thoughts he'd harboured concerning his innocent wife. It was a nice classical compilation entitled, 'Music for Meditation'. He put in on the stereo and then lay full-length on the sofa, remote control in hand, intending to ease his troubled mind with mellow music.

It didn't seem to work. He couldn't adjust the volume to the level he liked. It seemed to be either to loud or too quiet. He fooled with the treble and bass controls, but could not get the right mix of tone to please him. The first musical track, which had always been one of his favourites, didn't suit him today. He skipped to the second, with the same result. The loudness, the tonal quality, the whole CD just was a washout. He stopped the machine and got off the couch to change the disc- once more, the light-headedness. He put on another selection- this time some hard-rock by 'Blondie'. Standing this time, he adjusted the music no fewer than twenty times before he finally decided he was in no mood for any kind of music.

He turned on the telly and lay back on the sofa. Trying several channels, he liked nothing. He switched to the movie channels but he'd seen them all. The news channels, which usually interested him, were full of boring news. Ditto the 'Documentary' channels. Off went the telly. Michael tried to nap using deep breathing techniques to try to relax. After a quarter hour of this, he knew he couldn't sleep.

He got up slowly heading for the kitchen. He took a bag of crisps from a cupboard and rummaged in the refrigerator once again. He wished he could have a sugary can of cola. However, Grace didn't allow any full-sugar soft drinks in the house as they both tended to gain weight. There was some natural prune juice. Michael poured himself a glass of this and munched the cheese-flavoured crisps. This repast complete, he paced the kitchen, hall and living room respectively trying to think about what he was going to tell Fred. Finally, it was twelve o'clock. Although he was only thirty minutes away, he decided it was time to head for 'Sandy's Café'. He just couldn't bear to stay in his house anymore. He had to get out. Perhaps the change of venue would improve his spirits.

# Chapter 5

Grace had taken the car. So he had to rely on the train and Tube to get him to 'Sandy's'. The café was a favourite of his brother-in law. The food was very good and it was located within walking distance of Fred's workplace-an ideal lunching stop for many of the detectives and constables of the Metropolitan Police.

He arrived at the café at half-twelve and had thought he would walk around a bit before going in. However, as he walked by the place, the aroma of lunchtime food cooking changed his thinking. He went in and took a table in the least crowded area of the busy eatery. Perusing the lunch menu, he ordered steak pie and chips, touted as excellent by many of the locals. He knew Fred wouldn't mind eating on his own. Since he would be doing most of the talking, Michael thought it would be better this way. And he was extremely hungry.

He had also ordered a pint of mild, which was brought to his table quickly. He savoured the beer, a product of a local mini-brewery, drinking nearly half of it in one go. He found himself to be quite thirsty finishing the pint just as his food arrived. He declined a second pint as he focused on his food. The steak pie proved itself again- as did the thick-cut chips. He finished the last bits of both with relish as the waitress brought him a cup of tea.

As he sipped the tea, he was surprised to feel quite tipsy as if he'd had quite a lot of drink. He knew the mild ale he'd drunk was relatively low in alcohol, yet the effect was unmistakable. He was experiencing the warm glow, the mind-relaxing calm of the initial stages of inebriation. Perhaps that particular batch of mild had turned out much higher in strength than anticipated. A bargain for the drunkard!

He was jolted out of his reverie by the arrival, from behind, of a tall, lean but muscular figure. The man was dressed in suit and tie. His short grey hair matched almost exactly the steely colour of his eyes. Michael turned his head to see a smiling DCI Fred Plummer take a seat opposite him.

"Fred! How'd you get in here without me seeing you?"

Ignoring the question, Fred replied, "I see you've already eaten."

"Sorry about that, Fred. The steak pie is lovely today. I couldn't wait. I recommend it highly."

DCI Plummer merely nodded. He beckoned a waitress, ordering the dish his brother-in-law suggested as well as a pint of Guinness.

Turning back to Michael, the smile flying from his face, he asked, "Now what's the problem?"

For a long moment, Michael just stared at Fred as if not knowing where to begin, and then blurted out, "Grace and I came up against a horrible 'con man' yesterday."

"'Con man'? What sort of 'con man'?"

"The strangest type I've ever heard of. But dangerous. He drugged us..."

"What do you mean? Drugged you? And Grace as well?" interrupted the detective.

"Yes. It was so strange. It paralyzed us both. Then he injected something else in us."

Fred held up a hand as he declared, "Mike, you're not making sense. Calm down. Take a sip of tea. Start from the beginning and tell me everything that happened."

Michael took his advice. He shut up. After a long drink of tea, he told the complete story of the events of yesterday. While he related the story, Fred's meal arrived. Engrossed in Michael's narration, he ignored it although he swallowed most his pint of Guinness before Michael had finished.

"That's a very strange tale. Mike. Did Grace go to work, then?"

"Yes. I think she just wanted to keep busy so she wouldn't have to think about all of it. Incidentally, she's supposed to meet me at 'Armando's' for dinner. I was hoping you'd join us."

"We'll see about that. Now, let me ask a few questions."

"Go ahead."

"Had you ever seen this man before?"

"No, never."

"Could you identify him from a photo?"

"Yes"

"Did he tell you who you're supposed to kill? Or where or when?"

"No, nothing.

"Could I see the evidence you collected?"

Reaching under the table for his briefcase, Michael opened it for him. The policeman didn't touch the business card. He picked up the cigar in the plastic bag scrutinizing it for a few seconds.

"We ought to get prints off the card and DNA from the saliva on the cigar," he declared as he closed the case.

"Of course."

"And now, the hard question. How do you feel? Do you feel any different than usual?"

Michael dreaded this question but answered, "Yes, I'd have to say so. I've eaten a whole lot since he injected me and yet feel weak and light-headed. I just ate a large steak pie and chips and yet the weakness hasn't gone away."

Fred paused, nodded his head, saying, "That could be an after-effect of the drug he administered. Or a sort of post-hypnotic suggestion. Or perhaps the drug itself is making you more susceptible to his suggestions. Maybe you believe you're hungry because he wants you to believe it."

"I thought about all those things as a possibility for what I'm experiencing. There's only one other cause I haven't really thought about."

"What's that?"

"That it could be true. We really are starving."

Fred paused, looked him straight in the eye. "I've know of no device or drug that can do what you say it's supposed to do. From the evidence of no entry marks on your arms, I think we're dealing with a very clever hypnotist who's trying to use the power of suggestion to force you to do something for him."

Now Michael paused before he spoke again. "The only problem was that I saw him instantly cause Grace to collapse in his arms. He didn't have any time to hypnotize her."

"That's what you were supposed to think you saw. These men are very clever. I must say, though, I've never come across this kind of scam before. But we've got some evidence to process and we've got you to go over mug shots of hundreds of known 'con men'. So that's what I suggest we do. We'll walk to the station, collect a car and drive to the Yard. I'll get the lab to do a 'special' on the DNA and fingerprints and you can study the mug books."

"Sounds like the best thing to do right now."

"Then we'll meet Grace at the restaurant and get her information. Don't worry we'll nab this guy sooner or later."

"I hope so."

Looking at his watch, Fred noted, "We better leave right now."

"Right"

"I guess I'm not going to enjoy any of that!" he laughed as he pointed to his uneaten pie.

"I guess not," replied Michael as he rose to leave.

As he stood up, he saw spots before his eyes and fainted, falling back into his chair. Fred came round the table and shook his shoulders. This revived him quickly.

"Easy, Mike. You just tried to get up too quickly," he said as he helped Michael up.

Michael's head cleared immediately. "Thanks, Fred. I'm okay now."

"Let's get to this stuff tested," he said, lifting the briefcase with the 'evidence' within it.

Michael paid the bill. They left the café, DCI Plummer hanging onto both the briefcase and his brother-in- law.

# Chapter 6

DCI Plummer requisitioned a car and set up an appointment with the forensics laboratory at the Scotland Yard complex with no difficulty. During his many years as a policeman, he had made many friends who would hurry things along for him if he informed them it was something 'special'. Soon, he and Michael were given security clearance and passes. Taking the lift to the main forensics laboratory, Fred handed the briefcase containing the half-smoked cigar and business card to an evidence technician who took it away for analysis. Another technician took Michael's fingerprints since he had touched the business card when Leon handed it to him.

Before Fred left him to catch up on some work, they went to another large office. There, he introduced Michael to a detective who hauled out several large folios of photos of known 'confidence men' operating throughout Britain. He began to view photo after photo of these men, going through each of the albums in succession. He was glad that about half way through the stack, the detective offered to get him a cup of tea. He asked for a teaspoonful of sugar in his, although he usually took only milk. He felt the sugar would give him a jolt of energy that he really seemed to need.

After having gone through the lot, he found no photo of Leon. A couple of photos resembled him somewhat. However, the height of these two didn't match the five foot -eight or nine inches of the compactly- built Leon. As Fred had told him he would return at half -past five, Michael thanked the detective for his help. He told him he would wait for DCI Plummer in the lift foyer where thoughtfully someone had place two comfy chairs. Not feeling at all well after inspecting so many photos, Michael thankfully plumped himself in one of these chairs, closed his eyes, put his head back and tried to relax. After a few minutes, he began to doze in fits and starts.

He was in the middle of a doze cycle, when Fred shook his shoulder. At first, he was confused and didn't know where he was or why he was there. Then, as he recognized Fred, it all came back to him.

"It's a great life you have! Able to sleep while others struggle and strive, "he said with a wry grin on his face.

"Sorry. I must've dozed off.

"No bother. I just talked to Renton. He said you went through them all with no success?"

"Right. He just wasn't there."

"No one claims our collection of rogues is exhaustive. There are still plenty of slimy characters out there that we don't know about. It's time to see what the forensics chaps have turned up. Let's go."

"Okay, Fred," he said as he slowly got up from the comfy chair.

Taking the lift to the lab, Fred enquired about the results of the tests on the evidence gathered from Leon. In a few minutes, the technician who handled the case beckoned them to come into a small office. He bade them sit in front of a desk. He placed the cigar and business card presented in the open briefcase before them, then sat opposite them behind the desk

"Did you get some good 'prints' and DNA tracks?" Fred asked without preamble.

The man looked at him very seriously then at Michael. "Are you positive you didn't touch the cigar or the business card except when it was handed to you?"

Michael replied sharply, "Of course not! I only grasped the edge of the card and used a plastic bag to pick up the cigar."

"And no one else has had access to either the card or cigar since you gathered them?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No one touched it! Is there a problem?"

The technician looked at Fred, then back at Michael. "There isn't a problem. It's just that there isn't anything!"

Fred cut in, "What do you mean?"

"I'll start from the beginning. The business card was a normal white card with only a mobile phone number printed on it by bubble-jet printer. We dusted it for fingerprints. The only findings were your own right thumb and forefinger made apparently when you accepted the card. Did you notice that the subject was wearing one or more gloves?

"No. It didn't look like he was wearing any gloves."

The man went on without responding to Michael's answer. "The cigar was a relatively inexpensive black cheroot often found among the Italian community. Normal tobacco. It had been almost exactly half-smoked and then stamped out apparently by a shoe or some other flat object. We attempted to raise fingerprints from this specimen. There were none."

"It's very possible he was wearing very close-fitting transparent gloves and you didn't notice," Fred added when he saw the look of incredulity come over his brother-in-law's face.

"I suppose I could've missed noticing them."

The technician continued, "We attempted to get a saliva sample from the end of the cigar. There wasn't any saliva on the cigar at all."

"That's impossible! He smoked the thing halfway down," Michael objected irritably.

"You didn't notice a cigar-holder at all?"

"No. He definitely didn't have one! He just opened a pocket cigar case and shoved the cigar directly into his mouth. I know he didn't stop to put it in a holder."

"All the cigars in the container might've had black plastic holders on them. So when he put it in his mouth directly from the small case, you might not have noticed it had a holder."

"But when he threw it down, wouldn't I have found it?"

"Perhaps he held the holder in his mouth, removed the cigar, threw it down then placed the holder in his pocket for re-use," the technician offered.

Michael could just shake his head saying, "Maybe, maybe."

The tech continued, holding up a photo showing several views of the cigar, "Strangely, it looks as if there were bite marks on the mouth end. The pattern is anything but that of a normal cigar-holder. Yet, there would have to be saliva. Since our analysis would've been sensitive enough to detect the slightest amount of saliva, the particular type of cigar -holder used can only be described and most unusual."

Michael sat there for a few seconds unable to speak. Fred broke the silence. "Ted, did you learn anything else?"

"No, sir. These specimens are devoid of any identifying characteristics. No saliva, fingerprints or any other foreign material. The business card had to have been handled by someone wearing gloves and the cigar had to have been handled by a glove-wearer or at least grasped by the cigar-holder only."

"Then, that's it. Thanks for processing it so quickly, Ted," DCI Plummer said as he closed the briefcase and rose to leave the office.

Michael slowly got out of his chair muttering dazedly, "Right, thanks."

They left the office and walked down the hall to the lift. Neither said a thing until they entered the lift. "I could've sworn there weren't any gloves or cigar-holder," Michael spurted out at last.

Fred tried to re-assure him, "Look, your mind wasn't geared to noticing little details like that in the condition you were in. It does tell us something about this Leon chap."

"What is that?"

"He's a professional. He's taking no chances with leaving anything that can track him down. Gloves to leave no prints. Changing mobile phone numbers. He's clever."

Michael nodded resignedly, "I suppose so. Let's get to 'Armando's'. I'm dying to see how Grace is doing."

"Why don't you phone her? She's done with work, isn't she?"

He looked at his watch and rang her number. "Hello. Mike."

"How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm just leaving work. I should be at 'Armando's' in half an hour."

"How are you feeling?"

Grace paused before answering unconvincingly, "Um... fine. Erm...Did you get Fred to join us?"

"Yes. We're just ready to leave for the restaurant."

"Good. I'll see you there. Bye," she replied as the phone went dead.

Something about her voice and manner troubled Michael. Her voice had an uncharacteristic tremulous quality. She wasn't usually so abrupt when he called.

Fred asked, "Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's ready to leave work for 'Armando's'."

They signed out of the building and opted to hail a cab rather than use the crowded Tubes. This proved to be a longer process than expected due to the rush- hour traffic. They just arrived at the restaurant for half -past six.

'Armando's' was a moderately- busy establishment that featured Italian cuisine. Informal dress was the norm. Both the Jansen's' and Fred had eaten there many times and were pleased by the quality of the food and service. Many booth-type tables lined the walls. This endeared the place to those who valued privacy while dining as did Michael and Grace. Grace hadn't yet arrived. They were pleased when the headwaiter informed them that Mrs Jansen had already booked a booth for them.

They looked at the menus and were about to signal a waiter with their order for wine, when Grace appeared wearing a smart business suit that Michael thought so became her. They signaled her to join them. She walked quickly to the booth and as Michael rose to seat her, she embraced him desperately.

"Oh, it's so good see you!" she said as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Grace! Same here," he replied, taken aback by the forceful greeting.

As she released her husband, she then gave her brother a strong cuddle. Michael allowed her to sit on the wall-side of the booth with Fred sitting opposite.

"Gracie, Mike's told me about what happened yesterday. I'm here to do all I can to help."

"Thanks, Fred. I think we're going to really need you."

"Don't worry. Things are going to be all right. Let's order. I'm famished since Michael's story caused me to leave a perfectly good steak pie for lunch. Waiter!" Fred replied.

They ordered the wine- a bottle of red and one of rose. Grace chose veal Parmesan and sautéed veg; Fred, a sirloin steak with pasta side dish; Michael; the grilled trout with linguini. They passed a few desultory remarks about their choices while a waiter brought them their wine.

As he filled her glass, Fred came to the point. "Grace, this business has quite shaken you, hasn't it?"

She took a long sip of the rose. "Indeed it has! One doesn't expect to be given a paralyzing drug by a perfectly well dressed man knocking at the door. And then to find out he did it to Mike. And worst of all-the story of the devices that are supposed to starve us until Mike kills somebody."

It was Fred's turn to half-drain his glass of red. "I think I'm beginning to see what you mean."

Michael followed suit with his glass of rose. "The card and cigar proved to be useless. No fingerprints and no DNA because he must've worn gloves and used a cigar-holder. Or so they tell us."

Grace looked quizzically at them both. "I didn't see any gloves!

Michael added, "And I didn't notice any cigar-holder."

"It doesn't matter anyway. Mike didn't find him in any of the mug books. He's probably new to the area or the business."

"How are you feeling?" she asked her husband.

"Okay. Tired."

"I mean are you hungry? Do you feel weak and irritable even though you've eaten quite well?

Michael delayed his reply a few seconds. "Yes Grace. I've eaten well today and feel horrible. Lightheaded. Weak. And hungry."

She paused looking straight at him tears now falling down her cheeks. "Me, as well. I've eaten a morning snack, a heavy lunch, an afternoon snack and I feel like I haven't eaten all day! He really did implant something in us!"

Michael took her hand in his and put an arm around her as Fred cut in, "Grace, calm down. That's not necessarily true. You might be suffering the ill effects of the drug he gave you. Or you could be responding to post-hypnotic suggestion."

"Fred, the man didn't say anything to me after he gave me the paralyzing drug. Mike told me all about it."

"He could have planted the suggestion that he didn't tell you anything. This man appears to be an expert at hypnotism."

"Well, perhaps, but he didn't have time to hypnotize anybody. It all happened so fast."

"You could be right," said the policeman, "The marks where he injected you-what were they like?"

Grace answered quickly, "That's another strange thing. There weren't any! And no sign of any device under the skin where he pushed the tube. Nothing. Mike, how about you?"

"I couldn't find a thing either, Grace."

Fred was about to speak when the waiter came with their food. They all kept silent until he left. Both Grace and Michael beat Fred for the first bite. The DCI cut of a huge piece of steak and ate it quickly as he had missed lunch. The Jansen's' ceased to talk as they ravenously attacked their meals for several more mouthfuls. Fred noted that they had always been rather slow eaters-up till now. It was he who had to start the conversation going once again.

"Mike, you say this Leon told you to phone him tomorrow at exactly ten on the new mobile number?"

As he munched a big forkful of linguini, he replied, "Yes, he emphasized it had to be precisely ten."

"That's because he'll switch mobile numbers again right after ten. While you were busy with the mug books, I took the liberty of phoning the number on the business card. That mobile was switched off. He probably uses several stolen mobiles so there's no chance to be tracked. Tomorrow, I'll bring a recording device that we can attach to your mobile. At least, we'll get a voiceprint of the guy plus possible clues from the background noise once it's enhanced."

"Say, thanks, bruv. I'll be there, as well. I'll call off from work tomorrow," Grace promised between bites of veal and vegetables.

"Right, Fred. We appreciate your help,' added Michael.

For a minute or two, they tucked into the excellent food washing it down with a second glass of wine. They had all but finished their entrees, such was the vigour they used to consume them.

Fred had to be the one to re-start communication. "Since you both are not working tomorrow, I think we should visit a friend of mine who deals in reversing the effects of hypnotism, brain-washing and other malicious programming of people's minds. He may hypnotize you in order to remove the suggestion the Leon planted in your brain that you're starving."

"The Hell he will! We're not going to see a bloody shrink because we're not crazy," Grace spouted belligerently.

They both looked at her in amazement. Michael pointed out, "That's right, you know. We're not fucking guinea pigs."

Now Grace and Fred stared with amazement at Michael. He hardly ever used profanity unless he was drunk.

The surprised policeman replied in a mollifying tone, "Ease up. This man could probably help you a lot."

"Well, that's out of the question," Grace said as she waved her hand into the path of her wine glass, knocking it over.

Fred sopped up the little rose that had spilled. He looked at his elder sister closely. She was drunk! On a half bottle of wine. During a large meal. She appeared sober when she came in. Indeed, she drove to the restaurant. He never saw her get drunk so fast on so little before.

"Say, dear. You seem to be a little tipsy. You don't have a hip flask in your...erm hip, do you?" Michael asked making a silly smile.

"That's the first alcohol I've had all day, I swear. There's too much on this stupid table. We've got to order more wine with our dessert."

Fred cut in, "I think we better just have coffee."

Amazingly, Fred watched his sister stick her tongue out at him as she had done when they were children. "You're no fun. Freddie."

"That's what you are. But we still love you, Freddie-boy," remarked Michael using an epithet DCI Plummer despised.

Fred signaled the waiter. They all ordered the excellent ice cream and coffee for which 'Armando's' was famous. Fred had only drunk half his bottle of red. He allowed the waiter to take it away as he surmised he would be driving the Jansen's' home tonight.

As they were finishing enjoying their coffee, Fred suggested, "Maybe I should stay at your home, tonight. I'll run into the station to get the recording equipment in good enough time to be back for ten o'clock."

Grace was always glad to let her presently -divorced brother use their sofa-bed. "That'd be fine."

"And perhaps I should drive back to Upper Tooting."

"Nonsense. I'm as soger, um, sober as a judge," Grace mispronounced.

"Good move, Fred. Better you drive. I'm thinking we've been given some dodgy wine, that's all. So, Fred should drive."

"Men! You always gang up on us weak woman. You ought to be ashamed," Grace retorted handing the car keys to her brother.

The waiter came with the bill and Fred paid it despite opposition from the others, who at least donated a large tip to the waiter. They made their way out of the restaurant with Fred helping to support Michael while he helped Grace. Soon they were on their way home. About thirty minutes later, they arrived at the Jansen's' home in Upper Tooting.

Ever the wary policeman, Fred drove past the house slowly to see if there was anything out of the ordinary in the vicinity. He parked the car on the street. He checked out the back of the house. Everything seemed normal. They came in, turned on the lights and heat. Fred inspected all the rooms. It appeared no one had broken into the house and nothing was awry.

Grace gave him some bedclothes for the sofa-bed in the living room. Grace and Michael excused themselves to their bedroom although it was not quite half-past eight. As notorious late-night people, Fred considered that something might be physically wrong with them. He decided that when they sobered up, he would try his best to get them to visit the psychiatrist he'd mentioned. He also thought he would pitch the idea of a general medical check-up. From their symptoms, it looked like the drug they were given may've made them more susceptible to alcohol as well as fatigue. There was nothing else to do. He opened the sofa-bed, applied the bedclothes. He set his mobile alarm clock, got under the covers and soon was asleep.

# Chapter 7

Grace and Michael, although feeling quite fatigued and made drowsy by the wine, spent another restless night. Both of them got up several times during the night. Both of them had toast and tea (black again because neither of them remembered they were out of milk). Michael consumed a whole-oat power snack and Grace a banana. Yet, taking food didn't relax them. They dozed off and on throughout the night.

Fred, on the other hand, slept soundly until his alarm went off at seven. He dressed and went to the bathroom. On his arrival in the kitchen, he found both Grace and Michael already making breakfast. The aroma of bacon, egg and sausage frying filled the room.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" asked Grace with a smile.

"Like a baby, as usual."

"And, as usual, you're just in time for breakfast," Michael said cheerily as he handed Fred a plate full of breakfast.

He sat down and was joined by the others who began to tuck in to the delicious repast. Just like at yesterday's dinner, the Jansen's refrained from speaking until they had made sizable inroads in their meals. Fred partook for a bite or two, but couldn't match his hosts' energetic consumption.

"I'll take the Tube to the station and pick up the recorder right after breakfast. I should be back for nine o'clock. That'll give us plenty of time to set up for the call."

Grace and Michael nodded as they polished off the last of their egg, bacon and sausage. Michael wiped up the last vestige of egg yolk from his plate with a slice of buttered toast. Grace's plate was clean before Fred had halfway finished.

Finally, Grace spoke very slowly and deliberately, "Fred, Michael and I didn't sleep well at all last night. We got up and talked about this situation. We also had toast, fruit, and other snacks. Yet, we're still feeling very hungry, weak, out -of- sorts. We agreed to have a large breakfast as soon as you got up. And we have. And I still feel the same after all this food. And you, Mike?"

"No improvement, despite enough calories to choke a horse."

Fred began to speak. Grace waved him off. "We wanted to try one last meal before we made any final judgement."

Michael cut in, "And since the food hasn't seemed to have taken any affect, that judgement is that we think Leon is telling us the truth: he really did inject or implant something in us that stops us getting any benefit from food. Right, Grace?"

Once again, Fred tried to talk. Grace cut him off. "Let me finish, Fred.

Since our encounter with Leon, the night before last, we've eaten far more than we normally do. We've eaten like pigs actually. Yet, we show the symptoms of fasting. Last night, we seemed to be drunk, and we were, after just a half bottle of wine each with a meal. It was as if we were drinking on an empty stomach- as if we were fasting. We don't think any master hypnotist had the time to make us think we're starving. I think that's why we lashed out at you in our drunken state last night. We just felt so strongly it wasn't anything like that. So, we've decided to have some medical tests done on us immediately- tests that deal with blood sugar and nutrition uptake. We need to see what going on in our bodies-and we need to do it fast. So, that's the story."

Fred paused and nodded before replying,"Okay. That sounds very reasonable. I was going to suggest this to you this morning, anyway. I've noticed that you both have been affected by something. You both have shown weakness, dizziness and an abnormal appetite. I can't deny that."

Michael added earnestly, "If the tests prove there's nothing wrong with us physically, then we'll go to your 'shrink' for de-programming or whatever."

"It's not that we're opposed to the idea, it's just that the signs point in another direction," Grace noted.

"Fair enough. If we disprove any physical reason, we'll go for the mental. But what happens if it is physical?"

The Jansen's were silent for an uneasy moment. "That's when 'push' comes to 'shove'," Michael declared.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," his wife said emphatically.

Fred regarded them both, saying, "You may have to wait for a few days for an appointment with your GP. Let me arrange for one of our doctors to test you. We might be able to fit you in right away."

"Thanks, again, bruv. I was hoping you'd suggest that," his sister replied with a sigh of relief."

As he finished the last of his breakfast, Fred told them, "I'll be off then. I'll try to get an appointment with the surgeon for today and be back here at ten with the recorder. You two take it easy. If anything else comes up: you have my mobile."

The detective got up. He went to his sister, kissing her on the cheek, gently. Then, with a smile to Michael, he left the house for the Tube station.

# Chapter 8

Michael and Grace were alone in their home. After they washed up, they both went back to bed in hopes of napping a bit to make up for the last two nights of disturbed sleep. However, their plan failed. They could not rest. When their alarm clock went off at nine, they were wide-awake. They dressed quickly, expecting Fred at any time.

It wasn't till half-past the hour that a car parked on the street in front of the Jansen's. Michael and Grace went to the window in anguish hoping it wasn't Leon. Thankfully, Fred got out of the car and came to their door. He was carrying a metal equipment case.

"Sorry I'm late. I've got the recorder. And good news about your blood tests. We can show up between one and two this afternoon and they'll slot you in. I talked the guys into taking your blood samples on their lunch break. He told me to tell you not to eat or drink anything but water till then. He wants a fasting sample as a base comparison. The doctor should read the results by five. We phone for them between half-five and six."

This news pleased the Jansen's immensely. Fred immediately began to set up the recorder for the impending call. A device simply covered the earpiece of Michael's mobile allowing him to hear yet making a permanent copy of Leon's voice and other background noise. Fred phoned him using his mobile to check the equipment. Everything was in order. It was almost ten o'clock. Grace and Fred stayed in the kitchen where Fred had set up the recording equipment. Michael sat on the couch in the living room with his mobile and recording attachment connected by several meters of cable to the recorder in the kitchen. This was to prevent Leon thinking there was anyone else in the room. Fred thought an involuntary sneeze or cough might cause Leon to hang up prematurely.

Michael punched the Leon's new number into his mobile. It rang three times.

Then a voice answered, "Mr. Jansen. Right on time." It was Leon's voice.

"You said ten o'clock precisely."

"Indeed I did. Now, I hope you've learned that you're in a world of trouble unless you do exactly as I say. Some are slow to learn. Some imbeciles I employed using this technique didn't believe I had actually made them starve. By the time they tried to carry out their mission, they were too weak to do it. Do you know what happened to them, Mr Jansen?"

"No, I don't."

"They died, suffering slowly and painfully till they took their own life. One chap didn't begin the task I'd given him until three weeks into his starvation. He did complete the mission. I did reverse the starvation process. However, he left it too long and suffered irreparable damage from which he never recovered. But enough pleasantries. It's time I meet you for instruction. And the sooner the better. Be at the front entrance to the Tooting Bec tube station at exactly ten thirty. You have ample time to make that. Come alone, of course. And no one tailing. Your wife's life is at stake here, as well."

"But, Leon, what about...."

"The front of Tooting Bec tube station at ten-thirty. Goodbye, Mr Jansen."

Michael punched the're-dial' button. A message said that the mobile called had switched off. He joined the others in the kitchen.

"Well, what do you think of Leon?"

Fred replied as he removed a set of headphones, "Just as I thought. He seems very professional. I didn't hear a peep in background noise. Did you?"

"Nothing."

Grace asked pleadingly, "You're not going to go are you?"

He took her hands in his. "I have to."

"That's true. He has to play along until the right time. Then we can put him away."

"But do you have to go alone?"

"Yes, dear.

"That's best for now, sis. We desperately need information that Leon is only going to give to Mike, in person, and alone," Fred explained.

"I'd better not delay. It did record, didn't it?"

"Yes. I've already tested it."

"Did you notice he switched off his mobile just after phoning?"

"Just like I thought. You better go. It's getting late."

Michael kissed his wife. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

He grabbed his coat and walked out the door. It wasn't far to the Tube station. Soon he was at Tooting Bec station. He made his way to the front entrance, eyes darting this way and that looking for Leon. He wasn't there. He looked at his watch. Ten- thirty exactly. From behind, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw the dapper little man who called himself Leon.

"Again, good time-keeping. Come with me."

"Where are we going?'

"Have patience. You'll soon find out."

They walked down the street for about a hundred metres, neither speaking. Leon stopped before a new Bentley saloon. They both got in. Leon took out of his coat pocket what looked to be a mobile phone. He passed it over the surprised Michael's torso and legs once as he sat in the passenger seat.

"It's good to see you're not wearing any embarrassing electronic devices," he said gleefully.

He drove away eschewing the use of a seat belt. After several minutes and many convoluted turnings, they entered a rather seedy area completely unknown to Michael. Leon parked the car in front of a dis-used warehouse. He motioned to Michael to get out of the car. Taking a valise from his door side pocket, he walked up to the side door. He unlocked the door. They went in. The empty warehouse floor was dark and musty. Leon switched on an overhead a light, which threw a surprising amount of light into the room.

The floor wasn't totally empty. There were large bales of what looked like cotton fibre stacked against a wall. Several life-sized paper targets showing the torso of a man were mounted on frames in front of these bales. There was also a small metal table located a few metres in front of these targets.

Leon opened the conversation. "It's time for you to learn a bit about your task.

I suppose you've never handled a pistol?"

"No, never."

"Pity. You'll have to profit from the short training session I'll be giving you, today. Tomorrow, I'll give you final information as to where and whom you are to deal with. Then you can immediately begin to stalk this person and prepare for the kill."

"But, why not now. I...."

He opened the valise, bringing out a pistol. "Patience. Mr Jansen. This is a nice little number from our American friends, Mr Smith and Mr Wesson. Calibre 38. Six shot. Double action revolver. Modified for a silencer. This session will merely give you the rudiments of its operation. The kill shots I envision you delivering will be made under fifteen metres, hopefully under ten. You won't be accurate enough at any greater range. Do you understand?"

"Yes. There isn't time to make me a pistol expert."

Leon began loading shells from a box into the revolver. "Do you see how this works? You can practice loading later."

"Yes."

Leon closed the cylinder and postured with the pistol in one and two-handed positions. Affixing a silencer to the muzzle, he handed it to Michael.

"Feel the balance. Get used to its ways."

Michael found it to fit his hand and the balance to be much like an extension of his own arm. Leon took it back, turned to the targets, pointed the revolver in one smooth motion firing all six rounds from a two-handed stance. The silencer dampened the sound so that all Michael heard were several 'pht' sounds. The smell of burnt gunpowder filled the room.

As they walked to the target, Leon explained, "Fifteen metres distance. As you can see, all six rounds in the head. An excellent grouping. You won't be able to do that, of course."

They returned to the table. Leon re-loaded the pistol. He handed it to Michael. They walked to half the distance to the targets.

"This is the distance you should have for your kill shots. Now, take the stance I took and aim for the torso. Forget the head. I was just showing off. Don't fire nearly as fast. Squeeze the trigger. Hold both eyes open. Look directly at the torso- the pointing will follow. Go ahead."

Michael weighed the revolver in his hands using the two -handed stance his instructor has shown him. He focused on the torso of the target. He fired once, twice, then the rest in interval of about a second. They advanced to see the result. There were three holes in the torso of the target. Three were outside the human shape painted on the target.

"Excellent first try."

They went back. Leon motioned Michael to re-load the weapon. He did so, finding it very simple. It was then he decided to do something to save himself and his wife. Quick as a flash, he pointed the revolver at Leon while backing away to avoid any physical assault from him.

"Now, take those devices out of me or I'll kill you."

Leon didn't appear flustered at all. "Mr Jansen, think about what you're doing. If you kill me, you sentence yourself to death. And your wife. So give me the gun."

It dawned on Michael that Leon was right. He was about to surrender the revolver, when Leon snatched it out of his hands with speed Michael had never seen before. Before Michael could raise his arms, Leon slapped him very hard on both cheeks.

"Don't do that again. I'll allow one indiscretion. No more. At least it shows you have courage. Now, try another volley."

He gave the gun back to the shocked Michael. They walked to their previous spot. He fired another six. This time four made it into the torso.

They continued till the box of fifty was expended. Leon continued to give Michael helpful suggestions. By the end of the box of ammunition, he had been able to get all six rounds in the torso on some volleys.

"Good. You show signs of becoming a marksman. However, that's all I can give you. I'll clean this weapon. Watch the process."

He watched as Leon used a metal brush to clean inside of the barrel of the weapon. He put it back in the valise.

"Tonight, I'll provide you with special ammo- hollow point. It will cause more damage than what we've been using."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Your final instructions will be then. I'll phone your residence phone at exactly ten."

"But..."

Leon grabbed the much bigger man by the neck of his shirt with a lightning movement. He pulled him down to his knees with unbelievable strength. "I thought we understood one another. No 'buts' anymore. You do as I say. Do you understand?"

Michael could only nod. Leon released him. They left the warehouse, got back in the Bentley and drove off.

# Chapter 9

As they drove, neither spoke. Leon took a cigar from a case that was in his breast pocket. He lit this with the gas lighter he'd used before. Michael noted that the cigar had no holder nor did Leon apply one. He also noticed that he wasn't wearing any kind of glove. After a few minutes, Leon pulled the car over and stopped. He hadn't returned to Tooting Bec Underground station. Instead, Michael recognized the street as being within walking distance of his home.

"Tonight at ten. Wait for my call at your home number."

"Right. Ten o'clock," Michael said as he got out of the car.

He watched the Bentley drove off noting the registration number on a pad he'd brought along with him. He walked back to his house in a daze. All that had happened seemed unreal, as if he had dreamt it. He was still in shock at Leon's violently dominating behaviour. He was in awe of his amazing speed and strength. When he walked through the front door, his wife and brother-in-law met him; Michael knew he hadn't been having a nightmare. Quickly, he told them what had happened to him, leaving out any relation of his training the pistol on Leon and the ensuing punishment. He added that he'd secured the registration number of Leon's vehicle.

"That's potentially useful," Fred said. "Do you think you could find that warehouse again?"

"He took so many turnings. I don't think so."

"It probably doesn't matter. Tonight, he'll probably phone from a mobile setting up your final meeting. We'll follow you this time. We'll get him for sure."

Michael glanced at Grace's worried face. She said nothing. Her expression showed disapproval of Fred's idea.

"Grace, don't worry. I'll make sure to get the best men for the job," her brother explained.

"What happens if you do arrest him? He won't turn off the devices he's implanted in us. We'll still be dead," she replied.

This time Michael tried to reassure her. "We'll make him an offer he can't afford to refuse."

"That's right. And we'll know more about him after we trace that registration," her brother said. Looking at his watch, he continued," We better be on our way to the Yard. It's half- past twelve."

"So it is. I'll phone a taxi," Michael answered.

Within an hour they were in one of the many laboratories at the New Scotland Yard. The medical attendant had Michael and Grace roll up their sleeves. He drew several vials of blood from each of them making notes in a chart. Then after he'd given them a glass of what tasted like a glucose -rich training drink, he had them wait about half an hour. He then drew another vial from each of them.

"Come back at five, Fred. Dr Mosby'll give you the import of the findings, then," the technician advised.

Meanwhile, DCI Plummer had supervised a check on the registration number on Leon's Bentley. By the time, the Jansen's were finished with their blood samples, he brought them the results of his findings.

"The car was stolen from the greater Manchester area about two months ago. If he uses that again, we have a good reason to detain him, right enough."

"I doubt if he'll use it again. He had a Jaguar the first time we met. He seems to be able to lay his hands on any number of expensive cars," Michael observed.

"Such is their business, Michael old boy. Who knows what our friend Leon is into? All the better for me when I when we catch him. That'll be another credit on a truly exemplary service record," he replied laughing.

"Don't count your chickens, Fred," Grace warned somberly.

Her brother answered, "Yes, of course, you're right. But at least we're making progress. Speaking of progress, let's progress into the staff canteen for a late lunch. They'll serve you since you're my guests. Just show your security passes."

The three of them adjourned to the commissary. They got into the queue. Fred ordered a hot Chicken Tikka with naan bread and rice. Michael and Grace chose cold sandwiches and side salads. None of them had much to say. Fred tucked into his curry with gusto. The Jansen's ate slowly and deliberately- a marked change in their dining style for the last couple of days.

"Are you not feeling hungry now?" the detective inquired.

Grace and Michael eyed each other as Grace answered," I'm hungry. That's for sure. It's just that I don't see the point of eating when it just doesn't give me strength."

"I feel the same way. Whatever I eat just doesn't satisfy," added Michael.

Fred nodded, embarrassed at posing the painful question. Wishing to change the subject, as he mopped up the last of the curry sauce with his naan bread, he informed them, "I've got to arrange a proper greeting party for this Leon fellow. Wherever, he takes you, we'll follow. If he's driving a stolen vehicle, we'll arrest him. And if he gives you an unlicenced firearm, we'll have him again. It's not long before the results of you blood tests will be ready. You can wait here or in the reception area."

Michael replied, "We'll stay here. Is that okay, Grace?"

She nodded, "The coffee isn't bad."

"I'll be back soon. Then, we can all go to the lab for the blood-work findings,"

he stated as he stood up, turned on his heel and marched out of the canteen.

Grace and Michael bought several more cups of coffee as they waited. Their conversation was sparse. Neither wanted to talk about the events of the past few days. About an hour later, they were surprised to see Fred walking toward them. He sat down gingerly as if he knew he wouldn't be sitting very long.

"It's all arranged for tonight. The Guv has put on some very good men and women. Oh, I phoned the lab. The results are in. Dr Mosby wants to see us as soon as we can make it."

Michael and Grace rose on hearing the last statement the DCI made. He rose quickly. Together, they left the canteen and took a lift to the lab. Soon, Fred was knocking upon Dr Mosby's door announcing who he was.

"Come in," a voice bellowed from behind the door.

They entered the Dr Mosby's office. The man standing behind the desk except for wearing the trappings of a clinical haematologist at work looked anything like a medical professional. Tall, tan and handsome, he didn't look a day over forty. His copious head of hair was expensively styled. His face was unencumbered by glasses. He greeted them with a smile that revealed brilliantly-white teeth. He offered them a seat each. When he sat and began to address Michael and Grace, the smile was replaced by an expression of earnest seriousness.

"As per DCI Plummer's request, I've evaluated your blood specimens. Both specimens present normal, healthy tissue. However, blood sugar levels reflect about three days' fasting in both subjects. Furthermore, after the ingestion of a simple sugar -rich fluid, both specimens show no change whatsoever in blood sugar levels. The first case doesn't concern me; the second surely does. Do you have any idea why simple sugars are not being metabolized by your bodies?"

Grace's face became ashen. Her features went slack as she fainted away, her head and shoulders slumping onto Dr Mosby's desk. Quick as a flash, the doctor was out of his chair moving to Grace. He and Michael took her from the chair, laying her on the carpet. While Michael cradled her head in his arms, he placed a couple of pillows under her feet. She came around quickly. Going to a water cooler, Dr Mosby poured a paper cupful of water. He had her drink it. Her colour soon returned.

"Not a surprising reaction considering the degree of fasting," the doctor said as he continued to rub her hand. "Let's get you on the couch. You'll be more comfortable."

They helped Grace to a couch in a corner of the office. She seemed to have totally recovered.

Michael placed the question they all wanted to ask. "Doctor, could this problem with nutrition uptake be done by drugs or even some sort of implant?"

Dr Mosby stared at him quizzically, replying, "I don't know of any drug that could cause such a total inability of the digestive system to use nutrients-whether by injection or implant."

Grace piped up, "That's what's happened to us! Someone injected us with something that's making us starve to death even though we eat like pigs."

"It's true! He injected something in our arms and now no matter how much we eat, we starve," Michael added.

Dr Mosby regarded the Jansen's for a moment. "There's no technology that I've ever come across that can do that. Certainly not by injection or implant alone."

Michael complained, "Well. Somebody's discovered how to do it!"

"We've eaten so much in the last three days and yet your blood test tells us we have low blood sugar," Grace offered.

Fred cut in, "I can vouch for that. They've both eaten huge amounts in the last two days."

The doctor looked puzzled. "When were these 'injections' made?"

"Two days ago," said Michael.

"May I examine the injection sites on your arms?"

"Yes, of course."

The doctor closely inspected and palpated Grace's arm and then Michael's

"I don't find any sign of injection or implantation. There's nothing buried under your skin."

"We didn't find anything either-even immediately after he injected us."

"That is strange. Again, I know of no such system of injection or implantation that leaves no entry mark on the skin."

"This is a very strange case," Grace remarked.

"Well, Doctor, what should we do?" Michael asked.

"I suggest you waste no time getting a complete physical with complete blood-work. There's something seriously wrong somewhere."

"And about the strange method of injection?"

"I can't speak to that. That idea is pure science fiction to me."

"And that's all you can tell us?" Grace inquired.

"I'm afraid so. You two must see about this condition-and do it quickly."

Michael looked at Grace who glanced at Fred. The detective closed the conversation. "Thank you, Doctor. You've helped us quite a lot. Thanks for your time."

"Please have a complete examination. Your lives could depend on it."

They helped Grace up off the couch. She shakily accepted her husband and brother's arms as they exited Dr Mosby's office.

# Chapter 10

Fred could not accompany them back to their home. He had already convinced his superiors that the haematology evidence was reason enough for them to suspect a crime against the Jansen's and therefore his assignment to the case. He had a few loose ends to tie up regarding other cases before he could exclusively devote his time to theirs. Leaving them an emergency number to phone, he agreed to meet them at their home as soon as he met his other commitments and certainly before ten o'clock.

Michael and Grace said little on their taxi journey home. The events of the day had quite overwhelmed them. Both had hoped Fred was right about them being hypnotized or tricked into thinking that they were starving. They both had hoped their blood tests would have been normal. They'd have gladly talked to a psychiatrist if that had been true. The fact that Leon had actually done what he said he did deeply affected them. They felt violated in the worst way. It may be bad to have their home robbed and worse to have violence done to their body. However, knowing that someone had invaded their very life-blood with potentially lethal effect chilled them to the bone. They clung to each other in the rear seat as the taxi finally stopped at their home.

As they opened their front door, they noticed a small package secreted behind some shrubs that grew along each side of their front door. Their neighbour routinely used this area as a safe place to hide delivered packages that she signed for when the Jansen's weren't home. Michael carefully uplifted the small parcel bringing it into the house. Looking at the return address, they were startled to see 'Leon Enterprises' followed by some City address.

"Don't open it, Mike!" Grace warned. "At least not until Fred gets here. It might be a bomb."

"Leon doesn't need to send us a bomb. I can assure you of that."

Michael set the package on the kitchen table. He estimated it measured perhaps twenty centimeters square and ten deep, weighing heavy at two or three kilos. For some long moments, they said nothing as they stared at the parcel. Finally, Michael began to tear the package open. Once the packing paper was removed, a stout cardboard box was revealed. Michael opened this, removing paper packing. Just as he figured, a revolver lay under the paper. A screw-on silencer sat next to the pistol. Underneath this ordnance was a folded A4 sheet of paper and a heavy manila envelope.

Grace drew in a breath as Michael removed the pistol and silencer from the box. He placed the silencer on the table. He took the revolver out of the box. It was the very firearm Leon had forced him to use. He looked at the front end of the cylinder. It was loaded! Rotating the cylinder showed him that six hollow-point rounds had been loaded. Carefully, he placed it on the table. He took up the typed sheet of paper and read:

Dear Mr Jansen

Sorry for the change of plans. The envelope contains a photo and other useful information concerning your target. When the job is done, you'll find a number where you can reach me to have the process reversed for you and your wife. Please don't delay, as you must realize by now that you'll only have strength for a short time. I hope to see you again so that we can all enjoy a good meal together and know you've got more than a few days to live.

Leon

He passed the letter over to Grace who read it quickly.

"The bastard's not going to meet you!" Grace blurted.

"He's smart. He wanted to eliminate the possibility of arrest. Very clever indeed," answered Michael.

"That means the police won't be able to track him."

"That's right, dear."

"We've got to phone Fred and tell him to cancel the police."

Michael paused a moment before replying, "Let's wait just a bit on that."

Grace looked at her husband quizzically. "Why wait? What good would it do?"

Michael got up from the kitchen chair, inspecting the contents of the manila envelope. The envelope contained a dossier with photo of his intended victim. He began pacing the kitchen as he perused the documents Leon had provided.

"Michael. Surely, you're not thinking about going through with it! You're not going to try to kill somebody."

He continued pacing for a few more moments before again sitting down and facing his wife. He put the dossier down on the table and took hold of both her hands in his. He gazed into her eyes.

"Let's look at what we have here. This monster injects or implants or whatever something that prevents us from being nourished by food. The tests prove that, even if we try to pretend otherwise. Now, with this parcel, we know Leon can't be found. Without him captured, we can't force him to reverse the starving process. So what choices do we have?"

"We could go to hospital. The doctors could reverse the process."

"No, Grace. I think we can trust Leon on this. He said any attempts to reverse the situation would be futile. I can guarantee you that. He's definitely far more than a petty thug. I know. I've seen him do things that only the most highly trained soldiers or operatives could do. And I know he's merciless, remorseless, totally dedicated to the evil he represents. Who or what that is- I don't know. All I do know is that they have technology that is as good as or better than anybody."

"Why should we trust him? Since we can't find him, why would he reverse the process on us? Why not just let us starve to death?"

"We have no choice. We can do nothing and we'll be dead in a month or however long it takes to die from total starvation. Yet, I think he'll honour his part if I succeed. Somehow, I get the impression he's trying to recruit us for further missions of this type-kind of like independent sub-contractors in assassination. Something like that."

Grace objected, "But why can't we just leave it in Fred and the police's hands? They could find this Leon and deal with him. Then he'd reverse the process and we'd be alright."

"Dear, this man is too shrewd to be caught. He's like a phantom. He doesn't even leave fingerprints. My guess is the SAS or some other ultra-efficient military group has trained him. And even if he were caught, the chances of him undoing what he's done to us are slim and nil. He'd probably take a cyanide pill or such before being interrogated."

Grace broke free from holding his hands. She set her jaw, then said, "But can you kill another person, Mike? In cold blood? Someone you don't even know?"

Michael looked at her and said with a sigh, "I guess I can do what I have to do."

She looked at him for several moments. "But what happens once you do kill him? What if the police catch you? We're still dead."

"I know. I know. I must succeed. I'm not a trained killer. Today was the first time I've ever fired a handgun. I don't even know how to plan a killing. The odds are against me. But it's a sure thing the other way. Just letting the police deal with it will be useless. Grace, it's our only hope."

She continued to look in his eyes before replying, "I suppose you're right. It does look like the only way. What are we going to tell Fred when he comes?"

Michael chewed on his lip then answered, "Nothing. We're not going to tell him anything."

"You mean we're just going to pretend to expect the call from Leon-just waste his time?"

"There isn't any other way. Besides it'll be just you that'll be here. I've got to travel immediately. I really don't want to have to explain anything to Fred. And I mustn't waste any more time."

"What do you mean-'travel immediately'? Where are you going?"

He showed her the dossier. Her eyes widened as she read. "Bloody Glasgow! He lives in Glasgow. You don't know anything about the city."

"I suppose I'll have to learn fast. I'd hoped the person lived in London, but at least it's not some place completely isolated."

"So much the worse. You've got to try to get away with murder in the largest city in Scotland."

"I think it's an advantage. I can blend in with the masses not stick out like a sore thumb in a small town. Anyway, I'll go upstairs and pack. Could you phone the bus company and book the next bus while I pack?"

"The bus? Why not the Shuttle from Heathrow?

He touched the revolver. "There's far less chance of being caught carrying that on a bus."

She nodded. "But why not wait till the morning? We won't tell Fred about the parcel, pretend to be surprised at Leon's non-call and you can be on your merry way tomorrow."

"No. No more delays. Even now, Fred is probably arranging for surveillance of our house. He might try to pen me in from doing anything. Then, we're lost. I have to go now."

Grace was deep in thought for a moment. "Okay. You go and pack. I'll try and book you on next bus to Glasgow."

Michael rose and embraced his wife warmly. "It'll all work out, dear. Don't worry."

"I know, honey. I know," she said as he squeezed her on more time, kissed her and hurried out of the kitchen to their upstairs bedroom.

Michael selected a wide range of clothing from formal suit to dress-down casual. He figured he might need any kind of dress for his mission. Although the rule of thumb for travelers is to take less then more, Michael decided that he'd over-pack, taking any clothing that could possibly be useful. Filling two large cases, he carried them down downstairs depositing them beside the front door. Returning to the kitchen, he put the revolver back in its cardboard box, took the dossier from the table. He donned his jacket, putting the dossier in the inside pocket. He took the box containing the handgun to his luggage and placed it in amongst his clothing.

Grace met him in the hall. "You're in luck. There's one leaving at six. You can just make it. Also, I booked you a room at the local 'Marriott' for tonight. And a taxi's on its way to take you to the station."

"Sweetheart, you're wonderful. Tell everybody I'm out of town on business. I'll try to smooth things out at work by putting in some claim for 'compassionate leave' to cover my absence. What are you going to do?"

She paused a while before answering, tears welling up. "I suppose I'll go back to work. There's nothing else I can do."

"There's everything you can do! You can be there for me everyday. I'll phone everyday. I don't want you staying here. Phone up Lyndsey and tell her you're going to stay with them till I come back from my 'business' trip. Will you do that?"

She nodded. "I really couldn't stay here. You're right. Oh, Mike. What are we going to do?"

Michael's vision became blurred with tears as he clutched her in his arms. They held each other for a sweet time that was interrupted by the peep of a taxi horn. They kissed for a second. Then, Michael was out the door and into the taxi. Grace waved him farewell. She went back inside, locking the door behind her.

# Chapter 11

Fred Plummer had worked hard to be where he was today. In his twenties, he had started from the ground up as a humble PC. Now in his late forties, he had the title DCI before his name. He had participated in many a gruesome murder and those not so unusual. Yet this case baffled him. Never before had he heard of this particular situation. He had dealt with those who had attempted to force others to commit murder or other crimes because the perpetrator had threatened them or a loved one with death or torture. However, the stimulus to provoke the response had never been starvation of the very one who was to commit the crime. Indeed, how could one starve someone else unless they were in a position to withhold food from that person? If that were so, then the person could not commit the crime. This idea of affecting the body so as to prohibit nourishment was a breakthrough for the criminal mind. Now the people behind the crime could ensure the victim would perpetrate the crime. At the same time, he would know the fate awaiting him if he failed. He could feel the starvation getting worse every day.

The fact that it was his sister and her husband that were victimized in the case made it all the more baffling. Why them? His sister had worked her way up to one of the managers of a large insurance firm. His brother-in-law had a very good position as an executive for a prosperous multi-national advertising agency. They made great money. He knew they were very serious about what had happened to them. He also knew they were really afraid of the consequences of their encounter with this Leon. Why would a criminal want Michael to become his assassin? It would be far more logical just to extort money from the Jansen's.

The evidence of the blood tests caused Michael to reconsider his first theory: that they were the victims of some master of deception- someone who could trick them into believing that they were starving. Of course, the doctor had only done preliminary tests. However, these were far from normal and corroborated their story. The hard part to get over was that someone had the technology to actually shut off a human being's nutrition system. He'd talked to several technical specialists about such a process. They said they were unaware of anyone able to do this- not any of the clandestine forces of any government, nor private industry nor the criminal underground. They told him that if it was true then it must be something totally new, top-secret and financed by millions of pounds of research.

Why would the organization behind this new discovery use it on two people who seemed to be completely unfit for the role for which they'd been chosen? It would be far more logical to try to impel someone with experience in murder to do their dirty work. Why pick an amateur? An account executive? Fred had learned that the criminal mind sometimes doesn't work by logic.

But he had work to do. He arranged for a team of 'watchers' to be arrayed in the vicinity of the Jansen's home for well before ten o'clock. They would follow Michael to wherever Leon would meet him. Once Michael was safely out of harm's way, they would swoop on Leon. Then, Fred would see that all appropriate persuasion would be brought to bear on Leon to reverse the process in the Jansen's bodies. This 'persuasion' might mean cutting deals for Leon's freedom or it might progress to a more physical kind of pressure. Fred would stop at nothing to make sure his sister would be restored to normal health. He pitied Leon if he tried to refuse him.

It wasn't until about seven that he could get away from all these preparations. The team would soon be dispatched to the Jansen's home. He opted to take a taxi rather than drive there by unmarked car. He paid the driver and rang the doorbell.

"Jehovah's Witnesses," he announced, knowing the repugnance Grace had always felt for people ringing her door- bell.

"Very funny," she replied as she led him into the living room.

"Where's Mike?"

"Sit down, I need to talk."

They both sat on the maroon leather sofa. Fred felt the intense unease his sister was experiencing had intensified. "Okay. Talk."

"He isn't here! He's gone away to kill the man Leon wants dead."

For a few seconds, Fred was stunned by the news. "Why would he do a foolish thing like that?"

"It's not foolish! We didn't think this Leon would reverse the process if he were arrested- no matter what you did to him. And, right now, I feel horrible. It's only going to get worse," she answered as tears started to come.

Fred cuddled her gently. He had rarely seen his older sister rely on him for comfort. The last time he saw her cry was the time they lost their father, a few years ago. In their youth, it had always been Grace who consoled him when he needed it. "There, there, now. It's all right. It'll be okay"

He let her go as he handed her a box of tissues from the coffee table. "How'd he know where to go? Leon must've communicated with you again."

"That's right," she said as she dabbed the tissue at her eyes, "He sent us a courier-delivered parcel with a letter giving Michael instructions."

DCI Plummer shook his head. "I should've accompanied you both here.

Where did he go? What was in the parcel?"

Grace just stared at him wiping her nose with the tissue. "I can't tell you where he's gone."

Fred sighed and then took a deep breath. "Well, at least you can tell me what was in the parcel."

"It was a gun. And information about the man Leon wants dead."

"I suppose he's taken it with him. Right? What about the parcel? Which courier company delivered it? Do you have the box the gun came in?"

"The box was wrapped in brown paper. It's still lying in the kitchen bin where Mike threw it. Help yourself to it."

Fred went into the kitchen. He saw the torn fragments of the brown wrapper in the bin. Carefully, by using his pen and the edges of the paper fragments themselves, he laid the pieces on the kitchen table. He inspected the delivery label. He took a plastic carrier bag from a kitchen cabinet. He placed all the pieces of the wrapping in this bag, being sure he didn't leave any of his fingerprints on the wrapping. Grace had joined him. They sat at the table.

"It looks like this was delivered by one of Leon's henchmen posing as a courier. 'Dagon Couriers'. Never heard of them. Besides, the delivery label is non-standard. It looks like it was made up on a word-processor. His return address will probably prove to be bogus. Just the same, we'll dust it all for prints, have the return address and courier company checked out thoroughly."

Grace nodded. "Perhaps you can track him."

"Perhaps. Now, Grace. Did you see where he was supposed to go and who he was to kill?"

She frowned then hesitatingly replied, "Yes, but I can't tell you about either one."

"Grace, how can we help Mike if you don't allow us to?"

She blew her nose in the tissue. "We don't think you can help. We think this Leon will never reverse what he's done to us if he's arrested."

"There are ways to force people to do anything."

"Maybe. Mike seems to think nothing would persuade him. He's had two lengthy sessions with him. From my short time with him, I'd have to agree with Michael. He seems to be hard and unfeeling-like a robot- or the main character in the film 'Terminator'."

"But we're left with nothing except possibly fingerprints. Judging by the cigar that had no prints from yesterday, he's probably worn gloves when he dealt with the parcel, as well. So really we have nothing."

"I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be," she said resolutely.

"So what are you going to do now, sis? You really shouldn't stay here, alone. Why don't you phone Lyndsey and see if they can keep you for a few days."

"I don't know. I'd be too much trouble for them."

"Nonsense, They'd be glad to have you. Rob's finished decorating the spare room. You'd have a chance to spend a little time with your grand -children.

"Well, maybe. But what will I tell them about Mike?"

"Just say he's away on a lengthy business trip. Like the one he did two years ago."

She paused a bit before replying. The words seemed to be very hard to say, "What about when they see me wasting away to nothing."

"First of all, the process may be reversed much sooner than you think. Secondly, it's really none of their business. Do you think you'll go back to work on Monday?"

"I don't know. I guess I have the weekend to think it over."

"Okay. I'll call off the 'watchers'. Michael said this Leon looked through his wallet. Was Lyndsey and Rob's address noted anywhere in his wallet?

"No. I don't think so. I can't imagine why it would."

"Good. I'll have a car take you to Islington. We'll switch cars during the trip so nobody can 'tail' you. This Leon may have this house under surveillance. We can't afford to take any chances. I'll also have their house in Islington under watched day and night, just in case."

"But I haven't said 'yes', Fred. Don't try to make up my mind for me."

Fred caught himself. His voice became apologetic. "I'm sorry Grace. I just wanted to ease my worries about you. I just wanted to make sure you were in the safest place."

Grace's voice softened as well. "Thank you for the consideration. I think I will phone Lyndsey. If it's all right with her and Rob, it sounds good to me."

He smiled and nodded, patting her shoulder. "Good. You just took a load off for me. Go ahead use the kitchen phone and I'll use my mobile to cancel 'Operation- Leon Tamer' and set up 'Operation-Grace to Grand-kids'."

For the first time since he arrived, Fred saw his sister's beautiful smile. They both made their calls. Grace's daughter said she would be delighted to have her for a couple of weeks while her dad was on an 'emergency' road trip. She said tonight would be fine. Fred cancelled the 'sting' operation and set up the transport to and surveillance of his niece's Islington home. Grace went upstairs to pack enough clothing for a week or two. Within an hour, she was on her way. Fred got a lift to his flat from one of the cancelled 'watchers'. Knowing he had a big day ahead of him tomorrow, he immediately went to bed and was soon fast asleep.

# Chapter 12

Fred Plummer awakened Saturday morning very early. He hadn't slept well at all. This whole business with Grace and Mike was beginning to unnerve him. No, what really got under his skin was the fact that Grace would not confide in him. She wouldn't tell him where Mike had gone last night. She was adamant as they closed up the Jansen's house. After he helped her move in with Rob and Lyndsey, she could not be persuaded. Was Mike still in the London area? Was he holing up in some cheap hotel, using a false name and paying in cash? If that were the case, he'd never find him before he did the deed. Was he outside the city? Where? Was his intended victim across the Channel or even across the Atlantic? He didn't know. But Grace did. He had to find out from her. She was his only hope. She was their only hope. He had to find out where Mike went and whom he intended to murder.

He was convinced that Leon had afflicted his sister and brother-in-law with some strange illness that would eventually lead to their deaths. However, he didn't place much credence in Leon's professed intention to reverse their condition. He felt the best way to save Grace and Mike was by caging Leon and then 'persuading' him to remove or nullify whatever it was that was causing them to starve. In order to do that, he needed Grace's help to reach Mike and somehow trap Leon.

He showered, shaved and dressed in his usually stylish attire. Fixing himself a breakfast of toast, cereal and coffee, he pondered on the best way to get Grace to talk. He decided to just drop by his niece's flat in Islington unannounced. There was no time to delay. He had to get some answers from his sister before it was too late.

* * *

Grace Jansen lay in the guest bed in the spare room of her daughter's flat. She had passed a fretful night. What with the intense hunger, headache and irritability coupled with the anguish she felt for her husband and the task he had chosen to do, she had slept very little. When she heard the knock on the bedroom door, she was fully awake.

Through the partially opened door, Lyndsey announced, "Mum. It's Uncle Fred, Again. At eight o'clock."

"What does he want?"

"He says it's important."

"Okay. I'll just put a robe on. Tell him five minutes."

Painfully, she got to a sitting position on the side of the bed. The room started to go round and round. Then it slowed down and remained stationary. She felt nauseated. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. She began to feel better. Using the nightstand as a prop, she stood up very slowly. Like a woman of very advanced age, she took three small steps to where her robe had been left. Putting this on, she made her way to the mirror where she tried to make herself as presentable as possible. She walked into the living room. Fred and Lyndsey greeted her. Rob and Jeremy were asleep in bed.

"Grace, I need to talk. Lyndsey, could we have a moment?"

She appeared surprised at the boldness of the suggestion. "Right. I'll just make us all a cup of tea. Is that okay?"

"That would be great," her uncle replied.

She left the lounge closing the door behind her.

Grace melted into the settee as if she had no bones in her body. Her brother sat next to her. "It's no use, you coming here. I'm not saying any more."

He looked at the haggard face of his sister. Honest tears welled up in his eyes as he spoke. "Grace, you know you're the dearest thing to me in the world. I don't know what I'd do without you. You have to help me, or I'm afraid I'm going to lose you."

She took his hand and looked at him through tear-blurred eyes. "I know, Fred. I'd like to help. I have to go with Mike on this. I promised him. He thinks he can actually do what Leon wants and that Leon will honour his bargain."

"Why should he honour anything? Once the victim is dead, he's got all he wants. Mike is expendable. And the chances are Mike will fail at killing the person. He's not a professional hitman. Do you think Leon will honour his bargain if the victim's murder is botched? Did you ever stop to think about what happens if he does murder his victim? Even if Leon does nullify the starving, nine chances out of ten say the police arrest him very soon. That means years in prison at the very least. Loss of career, friends. And something even worse."

"What could be worse?"

"The knowledge that he is a murderer. That he took somebody's life-somebody he didn't even know. Somebody who did him no harm. How could he live with himself after that? How could he explain it to the person's family?"

Grace sat there staring at him. Tears were streaming down both their faces.

Lyndsey came in with the tea, saw the scene before her, set the serving tray on the coffee table and headed back to the kitchen. "I'll just make us some toast and scrambled egg."

Once she'd gone, Grace answered, "I know what you're saying is probably true. But I can't betray him."

"It's the only way. Look. We can set something up, if know who it is he's aiming for. We can find a way to trap Leon after he's reversed your condition. But I need to know where and who and when. You've got to help. You're the only one who can do it."

She sat there, no longer meeting his eyes but looking down. "I'm sorry, Fred. I can't do it. We have to do it Mike's way."

He paused a long moment before replying, "Well, then. I guess it's all over then."

She kept silent, looking down.

He rose, turned on his heel and walked into the hallway. He met Lyndsey at the kitchen. "I have to go."

Lyndsey could only say, "Cheerio, Uncle Fred."

She went into the living room. Her mother had already gone back to bed. She shook her head from side to side and went back to finish making the eggs. At least, she, Rob and Jeremy would enjoy them.

# Chapter 13

The trip to Glasgow was long and uneventful. It had been the first time Michael had ever used the services of modern inter-city busses. He was pleasantly surprised at their comfort level. Despite having more room than expected, he did not doze as much as he'd have liked. He couldn't get relaxed at all. Memories of the events of the past two days rattled around his brain. The bus arrived at Glasgow's Buchanan Street station in the wee hours of the morning. It was no problem to secure a taxi to the hotel. He was glad Grace had reserved a room as it would've been chancing it to show up so early in the morning. Michael tipped the porter well for carrying his bags to the room. The first thing he did was phone Grace. He punched in her mobile number.

The voice on the phone answered groggily, "Hello, Mike."

"Darling, I made it okay. I'm phoning from the 'Marriott'. Everything's fine."

"Oh good. How are you feeling?

"The same as before, I'm afraid. Hungry. Weak. Irritable. And you?"

There was a pause before she answered. He could hear her tearful reply.

"I was hoping...praying that it would've gone away from you. I'm so weak! I was hoping I'd wake up feeling well. But no...."

Michael interrupted, "There, there.... It'll all be over soon.

"When?"

"Say, did you move in with Lyndsey and Rob okay?"

"Yes. I'm in the spare room. It's all right."

"What did you tell them?"

"What you said. That you're away on an emergency trip and I didn't want to stay by myself."

"Do you think they swallowed it?"

"They think there's something going on. That's for sure. They just haven't started to press me yet for the truth."

"How about Fred? How's he reacting to me leaving?"

"He was upset. He thinks you're making a big mistake. He still thinks catching Leon is the answer."

"You haven't told him where I went, have you?"

"No, even though he begged me."

"Good. I don't trust the police on this. Just keep mum."

"Okay, what are you going to do now?"

"Just what we talked about. Don't worry. I'll be all right."

"Do be careful! "

"I will, dear. I'll let you get some sleep. I'll phone you this evening at about eight. Okay?"

"Okay, eight. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye, bye," Michael said as he switched off the phone.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, undressed and had a nice warm shower. This helped to relax him after the forced inactivity of several hours cooped up in a bus. After toweling himself dry, he flopped into bed, not even bothering to put on pyjamas or underwear. Whatever he had to do would not be accomplished unless he got some sleep. He tried to put thoughts of his onerous task out of his mind. The hot shower and his lack of sleep from the night before both worked together to cause Michael to drift off into unconsciousness.

* * **

When he awoke, it was already daytime. He looked at his watch that he'd placed on the nightstand. It was nine o'clock. Michael decided to get up and face the day. Slowly, he rose from his bed, mindful of the constant light-headedness this type of manoeuver caused him.

He was also mindful of his need for the toilet. One of the strangest features of Leon's 'procedure' was that normal bowel movement continued even though no nutrition was extracted from the food eaten. Apparently, the nutritive portion was excreted along with the waste. Michael felt it so unusual to feel both 'full' and 'empty' after a meal. It was even more alien for him to feel the need to have a bowel movement, when the 'fullness' he felt did not contribute to his nutrition at all.

The same situation applied to eating. He desired food in the worst way. His body told him it needed food. Food was the way to eliminate the hunger, the weakness, the lassitude. However, knowing that it was merely passing through him without doing him the slightest good made him wonder if he should even eat at all. Nonetheless, he would eat for no other reason than to maintain the condition of his digestive system. Once Leon reversed the process, there'd be no great shock to the system.

He shaved and dressed in comfortable 'touristy' clothing. He made sure his cases were locked and stored out of the way of the maid who was likely to arrive at any time. He'd decided to stay at the 'Marriott' for the weekend. After reconnoitering the city and his plan of action, he considered moving to a more suitable lodging for Monday night. He left the room and took the lift to the lobby. He was pleased that he could secure the same room for both Saturday and Sunday night.

In keeping with his plan to maintain his digestive system, he went to the hotel coffee shop. The breakfast menu looked scrumptious. He ordered a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, square sausage, tomato and 'tattie' scones. Michael rarely indulged in such a high calorie, high fat breakfast as he was prone to put on weight. Although a tall man, his sedentary job and age worked against him such that he had to watch his caloric intake or the pounds would pile on. He tried to limit the amount of saturated fat he ate, as well. He wondered if Leon's 'process' not only eliminated nutrition but also the bad effects of saturated fats. He conjectured that although caloric intake was reduced to nil, the artery-clogging property of saturated fat probably was still in effect. He reasoned that if the inebriating effect of alcohol on the brain was not diminished as was shown by its use by Grace and himself, then the detrimental nature of saturated fat probably was not lessened. Leon's 'process' most likely even made things worse.

He began to eat his breakfast. Although his sense of taste still functioned, it seemed to him that now the four basic tastes of sweet, sour, bitter and salt overwhelmed every other nuance of flavour. The aroma of food still attracted him, yet as he began to eat he wasn't satisfied as he had been before 'the process'. A well-cooked meal had, in the past, not only satisfied him as he both saw and smelled it before eating but also while and after he ate it. Now, the aroma may have stimulated him and the way it was presented attracted him but there was no satisfaction during and after eating. After eating, he felt 'full' yet profoundly 'empty'. Although he craved to have another breakfast just as large as this one, he was also surfeited and could not have taken any more. This meal, as had every other he had had since that fateful night, rather than being a healthy experience proved to be a frustrating, pointless endeavour.

As he listlessly ate his food, he began to plan what he would do carry out his mission. It was Saturday. The weekend. He figured that the man he was to kill would probably be hard to locate. He took out the dossier Leon had provided. It contained only the man's photo with a note of his height and weight, his residence and business address, and a list of his leisure pursuits. That was all. And his leisure pursuits were: 'hill-walking, cycling, attending a gym on Bothwell Street two or three times a week and attending a 'church' located in a school on Melfort Avenue, Clydebank, every Sunday.' Certainly not much to go on.

His meal finished, Michael drained the cup of black tea. He rose very slowly. It seemed he had weights on his shoulders. He paused for the ever-present dizziness to clear away. He paid his bill. He asked the cashier where he could get a city plan map of Glasgow. The cashier produced one, which Michael purchased. Finding a comfy chair in the lobby, he began to study the layout of the city.

He noted that the Marriott Hotel at 500 Argyle Street was actually within walking distance of the city center. He found his prospective victim's home at Limeside Avenue in Rutherglen. This was a couple of miles southeast of the city centre. The man worked in the town in an office building on Waterloo Street. One of his 'leisure pursuits', his gym, was close by his work. The 'church' he attended was located about three or four miles northwest of the town center.

Because of his weakened state, he decided he must hire a car rather than use public transport. Enquiring at the hotel desk about the hotel's parking facilities, he also obtained the address of a reputable self-drive car hire company that was not far away. He could've walked there. Instead, to save his ever-dwindling energy, he asked the clerk to order a taxi.

The taxi arrived in a few minutes, delivering him to the Avis outlet. Within the next half -hour, Michael was at the wheel of a Renault Clio and headed for the hotel's car park. All this activity had fatigued him so much that he felt he must rest before he could embark on any long period of driving. He parked the car, took the lift up to his floor, entered his room and flopped on the newly made bed. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, he tried to rest as best he could.

# Chapter 14

Leon just wasn't going to do it. Why should he have to venture up to Glasgow to wet-nurse this Jansen, when Angela was already there? It made much better sense for him to stay right here in London. After all, he had other fish to fry. He accessed her file on the monitor and found her number. He thumbed in a code on his mobile. A voice greeted him.

"Leon! Hello. What's the occasion?"

"Angela, my dear. I've got good news for you."

There was a pause on the line. "What do you want now?"

"Now, now, angel. This is your lucky day. I've got something for you."

"You're 'shitting' me."

"I wouldn't 'shit' you. You're my favourite turd! Just a little 'encouragement job' because I know how good you are at that."

"But, Leon, I'm already handling scads of cases. How can I do more?"

"Oh, you'll find a way. Unless you prefer I make some suggestions to the Chief about how well I think you'd do working out of his office. I'm sure we could arrange for you to pack up and move within the month. Would you want that?"

"No, Leon. I suppose I could do you a favour. What's in it for me?"

"Let's just say if everything turns out right I'll recommend you continue on in your nice cushy job for another year. How's that?"

"Okay! What's the job?"

"Just a small matter. I've got a 'prospect' due to eliminate that Farley pest. I dosed him and his wife with '117' a few days ago. Surveillance shows his house is empty. We can assume he's dumped the wife in some safe place and made his way to your neck of the woods. You're job will be to find him and meet with him at least once to assist him with the mission. Now, what could be easier than that, Angela, my love?"

"Plenty. That means I've got to search the hotel registers and hope he's not staying with someone he knows."

"There are ways to find him. I know you can do it. I'll fax you his particulars immediately. Remember, there's a bit of 'hurry-up' involved with this case."

"What case doesn't?"

"True. As you know, we've got 'to make hay, while the sun shines'. And you know the sun will stop shining. One other thing. Don't fuck this up. If you do, being assigned to the Chief will look like paradise compared to what I'll make sure you get. Okay?"

There was an audible 'gulp' transmitted to Leon's ear. "I understand. Just send me what I need so I can get started as soon as possible."

"That's the spirit, pet. I can see you're going to go far in this organization. Oh, one other thing. Be sure to monitor police communications and report any attempt our 'prospect' makes to kill Farley. I want to know immediately, if he's successful. Right."

"Understood."

"Good. I look forward to hearing from you," Leon said as he switched off.

# Chapter 15

Richard Farley loved the outdoors. He especially appreciated the grandeur of the Scottish countryside. Whether it was the rough, wild terrain of the Highlands or the less physically challenging hills of the rest of the country, he reveled in walking or climbing over as much of it as he could. He actually enjoyed the cold, the rain and the mud that put off so many others. During the week, he had to deal with many different people in the concrete, steel and glass of Glasgow. On many a Saturday, he could free himself of the artificial, the man-made and interface with the wonder of God's handiwork. By retreating into the country every so often, he could draw renewed energy and desire to help those of His creatures he could.

On this cold, rainy dull Saturday afternoon, Richard's slim, fit body was outfitted in hill-walking gear. He was ascending a hill located not far from Glasgow. It was popularly known as 'the Cobbler'. He could easily mount it in a morning and by evening be back in his home. He had climbed it many a time in his youth. Now that he was nearing the wrong side of forty, it was still one of his favourites. He found that every time he climbed it, he discovered new and wonderful features. His friend, Colin Fry, accompanied him. Although they spoke little as they climbed, now, as they reached the top and the rain had stopped, it was time for a bit of lunch and conversation.

"There's nothing like some outdoor exercise to clear one's head," Richard said as he bit into his sandwich.

"Aye. You've got that right, mate. Not only the mind but the rest of the body, as well," Colin replied after taking a huge gulp of hot tea from his thermos flask.

Richard, deep in thought, chewed his sandwich for a moment. "Say, Colin. I'm almost certain some of the biggest names are involved."

"Oh, you mean that blood thing," his friend answered as if he'd bit into very sour lemon.

"Right. I know you disagree. I know you think it's too dangerous to continue digging into it. But it's downright contemptible what they're doing."

"Correction. What they may be doing."

"Oh, come on. We've got the paper-trail evidence that leads to many of them. Soon, I hope to find someone that hasn't been bought off-and that Beachly fellow may be our man."

"You're taking you life in your hands, Richard. If you implicate such powerful people, you may suffer for it."

"What they're doing is just so repulsive. Blood donors expect their blood to be used to save lives in this country as part of the National Health programme. Yet these people are selling it to the highest bidders in the U.S. They've made it so that our blood stock is so dangerously low we could never cope in a national emergency. They're not only stealing and getting rich but putting us all at risk at the same time."

"I know it's sickening. The thought of all those donors and all those 'bloodmobiles' being used to line the pockets of men that are already rich makes my blood boil. But there you have the problem. These rich and powerful men aren't going to stand around and let some person try to spoil their scam. And from the looks of it that person is you. They may try to get to you-one way or another."

"Colin, first of all, I've covered my tracks well enough that they don't know anything about me. So I think I'll have the time to expose them. Secondly, after the expose, they can't afford to do anything to me. They'll be too many eyes watching me -and them."

"What if you're wrong, Richard? What if they do try to silence you before the fact- or even after?"

"It's easier for evil men to succeed if good men do nothing. As far as I'm concerned, much of this information just came my way without me even looking. I feel God is just pointing me in the direction I should be going. If I have to suffer for doing good, then I'll have to suffer."

Seeing he would not get far with his determined companion, Colin merely nodded as he finished his sandwich.

Richard saw this topic was unpleasant for his friend. "It looks like the rain's coming back on. I wouldn't mind getting back to the house by six. I promised Cyn I'd take her to the cinema. Do you want to start back down?"

"Suits me. That Cynthia is a real gem. I don't know what she sees in you," Colin joked.

"I don't know either. I must bring out the maternal in her," Richard replied with a laugh.

"You're still planning to tie the knot in March?"

"I can't wait. Someone like her doesn't come along every week, you know."

"Yes, I know. And I'm definitely jealous!"

"No, you're not. You're just very happy for me."

Colin smiled broadly. He patted Richard on the shoulder, "Of course, I am, brother. You've really been blessed."

As they both rose to begin the trek down the hill, Richard punched his friend's arm playfully. "Thanks. Pal. Say, can you come to Sunday lunch after church with us tomorrow. With Ben and Cherry gone for the weekend, it's only Cyn and me."

"Sorry. I've been invited by my Mum for lunch."

"No bother. Let's get going," Richard said as he threw his pack on his back.

# Chapter 16

Michael tossed and turned on his hotel bed. Despite his feelings of fatigue, couldn't sleep or even rest. He went through the motions of trying to relax, but it was no use. He couldn't stop his mind from churning over his situation. One hour passed. Perhaps he did doze off a little. He tried to force himself to sleep-to shut off his mind. The more he tried the harder it got. Finally, he abandoned the idea of rest altogether. He must now do something.

He slowly and methodically got up, went into the bathroom and washed his face in cold water. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair. Leaving his room, he painstakingly walked to the lift, taking it to the ground floor car park. Getting into his hired car, he studied the street plan of Glasgow and its environs. Leaving the garage, he challenged the Saturday afternoon Glasgow city centre traffic. As usual, for a person driving in an unfamiliar town, he made many wrong turnings as he headed for Limeside Avenue, Rutherglen, the home of his intended quarry.

Although, it may've taken a native twenty minutes to drive there, Michael used almost an hour. He was also hindered by the weather. It was raining steadily, thick, black clouds filling the sky. It was overcast; the streetlights were on in early afternoon.

His intention was merely to see where this Farley lived. He hadn't intended to make a mad frenzied attack on him in his home. He hadn't even brought the pistol. He didn't even expect to find him home. He just wanted do something, anything, rather than just lie on a bed in a hotel room.

He slowly drove by Farley's home. It was one of the many modern blond -brick terraced two-storey houses that lined one side of Limeside Avenue. Although many of the houses on this street were lit because of the heavy clouds, Farley's was dark. He didn't think it wise to drive by a second time. It seemed the man was not in. Probably in a nice, warm, brightly-lit pub. At least, now, he knew where the man slept.

After having driven several streets away, he parked his car. He consulted his map once again. After some minutes, he began again. This time, his goal was to find another address that Leon's dossier had provided- where Farley went to church. Michael attempted to find Clydebank, Melfort Avenue. Again, lack of familiarity with the road hampered him greatly. It took yet another hour for him to find the school building where Farley went to church every Sunday morning. Apparently, it was a small splinter-group religion. Michael remembered reading about some of these groups. Most of them were imports from the U.S. Many of them featured strange rituals, talking in tongues of angels and rolling on the floor. Some had their members handling poisonous snakes. He wondered how weird the one Farley was a member could possibly be.

He parked by the school. The rain had ceased for a time. Getting out of the Clio, he walked up to the front door. A security guard happened to be at the reception desk. Michael hailed him. The guard came to the door.

"Say, mate, I'm interested in going to the church in this building. Could you tell me where I'd go and what time tomorrow services are held?"

The guard looked him over answering through the glass door, "Oh, you must mean Mr Hicks group. They meet every Sunday morning at eleven in Room 34B. It's just to the left and halfway down that hall."

Michael took out a pad and pen and noted the time and room number. "Is it for members only or can anybody attend?"

"It's for anybody. In fact, they're dying to have visitors. They keep inviting me on the Sundays I have free. But I'm not very religious."

"How many of them are there?"

"About thirty or so."

Michael just had to find out. "Excuse me for asking, but are they kind of a strange group. I mean. Rolling on the floor and suchlike?"

The guard's face split in a wide grin. "Oh no! I've seen their services. It's all just normal. You know. Singing and praying. And Mr Hicks, their minister, does a sermon. I don't think they'll make you drink poison."

Michael grinned back at him. "Thanks. I feel relieved. And thanks for your information."

"No bother," the man said as he went back to the desk.

Michael went back to the car. He got in his seat thankfully as the bit of activity he'd just done made him feel faint and nauseated. He had a plan now. He was going to be here tomorrow at ten. Hopefully, he would meet and possibly befriend the man he was going to kill.

* * *

By the time he found his way back to the 'Marriott', it was already fully dark. The rain had re-established itself. It had been a dark, wet, cold day. The night appeared to offer no change. The weather didn't matter to Michael. He parked the Renault in the car park, took the lift to his floor and went to his room. Throwing off his jacket and cap, he sat in a chair at the writing desk provided in his room. He took out the Farley dossier from his shirt pocket and studied it once more. He'd been to his residence. He was planning to visit his church. There were only two other addresses to explore: his workplace and gym. According to his street plan, these were located very close to each other in the city center. Perhaps tomorrow, or Monday, he would visit these.

There was nothing else he could do tonight. Well, almost nothing. On the return journey from the Clydebank school, he'd stopped at a Haddow's shop and picked up a bottle of fine single malt whisky. Although he quite enjoyed some of the expensive single malts, he normally didn't drink spirits. However, these were not normal times. He felt it would relax him so that he could get some sleep. Anyway, he felt certain it would help to slow down his overworked brain.

At the same street he'd gotten the liquor, he had noticed a kebab take-away. Knowing he was going to ingest whisky the way he liked it, neat, he purchased a large donner kebab. He figured even though he wouldn't get any nourishment from it, at least the greasy meat would protect his digestive tract. He had wolfed it down in the car. Then came the dissatisfying feeling of 'fullness' and 'emptiness' occurring simultaneously followed by nausea that almost caused him to lose it all.

He opened the bottle of single malt and poured a healthy measure in one of the hotel glasses. He sniffed the aroma of one of the finest products of the distiller's art. He took a small sip, savouring the pungency of it. He paused while the afterglow washed over him. He took another, larger sip. He continued until the tumbler was empty. He was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. A sense of well-being-such as he hadn't felt for days-returned to him. He took off his shoes and shirt. He moved his bottle and glass to the nightstand beside his bed. Getting in as comfy position as possible on the bed, he leaned over and poured himself a somewhat larger measure of the whisky than before. He drained the tumbler in fewer sips that the first filling. Filling the glass nearly half -full, he finished the third tumbler. Feeling extremely sleepy and dizzy, he placed the glass on the nightstand, sighed loudly and lapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

# Chapter 17

Richard Farley turned his yellow Toyota Yaris into Melfort Avenue. Cyn was primping in front of the visor mirror. It was only half-past ten. He liked to get to the meeting early to greet the brothers and sisters and any visitors. Cynthia liked doing it, as well. He knew Tony and Chris would already be there.

He greeted Willie, the security guard, warmly as they entered the school building. "Hi Willie. How are you keeping?"

"Very well, sir. Mr Hicks and his wife are already here."

"Call him 'Tony'. Everybody else does. And his wife's 'Chris'."

"Oh, I don't know about that, sir. Him being 'a man of the cloth' and all."

"I'm sure he won't mind. And when are you going to start calling my fiancé 'Richard' and me 'Cynthia'?" inquired Cyn with a smile.

"I'll be sure to start right away....Cynthia."

"And I think the other guard is working next Sunday. That's mean you can make it to the worship service, Willie. You're very welcome, you know," Richard suggested.

"I know, Richard. I just might come."

"Good. We'll see you then," Cyn answered as they went on their way to Room 34B.

They met the Hicks' and greeted them warmly. Soon after, a few more people came into the large plain classroom furnished with only thirty chairs, a table and lectern at the front. By ten minutes to the hour, almost every chair was spoken for as men, woman and children of all ages drifted in. Most of them were dressed casually. They all seemed to know one another well. At about this time, a tall man about fifty years old entered the room. He was dressed quite formally in an expensive dark blue suit. Instantly, a couple of the group members welcomed him and offered him a seat. Richard and Cyn noticed his arrival. There wasn't time to greet him before the service. They made plans to go up to him immediately on its closing.

At about twelve, the worship service ended with a prayer. Richard and Cyn went to introduce themselves to the only visitor they had that day. Although many were seeking to talk with him, they noticed him coming directly toward them.

Richard and the visitor greeted one another, shaking hands. The man bowed to Cyn. "My name's Michael, Michael Charles," he lied with a grin.

"Richard Farley. This is my fiancée, Cynthia Courtney," Richard said.

"I thought I'd compliment you on the way you directed the hymns. It was so upbeat. Your arm motions really seemed to get everybody singing."

"Thanks. Song leading is hard for me. That's why I put in a massive effort. Did you like anything else about the service?"

"The minister did a fine job. And so did the man who said the words over the unleavened bread and wine."

Cynthia interrupted, "Excuse me. I'll have to leave you two. Nice meeting you, Mr Charles.

They both watched as she went to see a woman that had been beckoning her. "We're getting married in March. Are you visiting relatives in Glasgow?"

"I'm here on business. I'm based in London."

"Well, it good to have you. I take it this is the first time you've visited one of our meetings?"

"That's right. I found it to be very different from church services I've attended in the past, Mr Farley."

"Call me 'Richard', please. We're not Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons. And we're not affiliated with any of the large denominations. Our worship is plain and simple. We're just dedicated to doing what God wants us to do according to what He's written for us in His Word. That's all. How long will you be up here...May I call you 'Michael'?"

"Oh please. Probably for the rest of the week."

"Would you like to know more about what our group is all about?"

"I would, indeed."

"Good! You came to the right man. Are you free tonight, say about eight?"

"Eight? Why, yes."

"Cyn and I can visit you with some information about our group- its make-up, its aims. It's in the form of a guided Bible study. It'll probably last an hour. How does that sound?"

"Great. But I can't expect you to come to me. I can come to your home."

"No bother. We'll be glad to come. Since the information we'd like to give you requires more than just one hour, we can set up a second hour. You can come to my house for that one, if you like. Is that okay?"

"That sounds fair. I'm at the ''Marriott'' Hotel on Argyle Street. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes. Do you want us to come to your room or meet in the lobby?"

"Whatever's best for you."

Richard took out a business card and pen. He scrawled something on it. He handed it to Michael "Let's make it the lobby at eight tonight, then."

Michael accepted the card. Richard had just filled in the time and place on its reverse. "I'll look forward to seeing you and your fiancée then."

"Have you made plans for lunch?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. And I must go immediately," Michael said as he shook hands with Richard.

"See you tonight, Michael."

Michael headed for the door, excusing himself by telling those who wanted to talk with him that he'd be back next week. He left the building, got in his car and drove off.

On the way back to the hotel, Michael's spirits were as high as they had been since his encounter with Leon. Not only had he met Farley but also he seemed to have clinched another meeting this very night. Then, there was the possibility of actually entering his house for a third meeting. I seemed too good to be true. If he could be with Farley, alone in his home, he could shoot him there. Using the silencer would mean no one would know until he was far away.

Of course, things rarely turned out to be that simple. Was it only Farley and his fiancée that lived there? What would he do with her? And perhaps there were children? Did he have to kill a whole family to save Grace and himself? He knew he couldn't stoop as low as that. Anything could go wrong. Farley might not show up tonight. Or he might not want to have anything to do with Michael after tonight. He made a mental note to make sure he said nothing that would drive Farley away.

Michael had not given Farley his surname. His father's name was 'Charles'. He didn't want to leave any trace of his real name with any of the people at that religious meeting. He was also glad they were to meet in the lobby. It would be better if Farley and his girlfriend were ignorant of his room number.

Despite having just driven there and back, it still took him the better part of an hour to get back. Michael parked the car and went into his room. He poured himself about two fingers of whiskey. He took off his coat and tie. He sat on the bed exhausted but in good spirits even before he drank the spirits! Last night, he had overdone it -and paid for it this morning. He didn't want to be drunk for the lobby meeting. Feeling dog-tired, he phoned for a 'room service' lunch. He finished his whisky by the time it came. He went through the motions with the food, eating to give his digestive system something to do. His lunch eaten, the alcohol began to relax him. He turned the telly on to an old movie he'd seen a few times. Before the first adverts interrupted the action, Michael Jansen was asleep.

# Chapter 18

Someone knocking at his door awakened him. At first, he thought he was back home. Then he realized that he was in a hotel room. Who could it be? No one knew his room number except the hotel staff. With difficulty, he got off the bed, went to the door and opened it a bit.

The person who knocked was not a member of staff. It was a young woman- an attractive woman, a redhead, hair mid-length and flowing radiantly. She was dressed in a white blouse with black skirt, lavender jacket open. Her smile revealed fine white teeth and her eyes were a lovely shade of green.

"Mr Jansen. Sorry to bother you. We've got a mutual friend who's asked me to drop by. May I come in?" she said in a sensual contralto whose accent betrayed a Home Counties accent.

Michael paused because he was overwhelmed by her presence. She slipped through the door gently pushing Michael back. He seemed incapable of resistance. "Who might that be?"

"I believe you know him as Leon," she said as she closed the door and moved very close to Michael.

Michael got the aroma of her perfume. He replied, "Leon!"

The girl turned and moved to the bed. "Yes. My name is Angela. We're colleagues," she explained as she sat on Michael's bed.

Michael could do nothing but sit in the desk chair. He noticed the woman had a stunning pair of legs barely hidden by her knee-length skirt. "What is it you want, Angela?"

She took out a silver case from her handbag, put a short un-filtered cigarette in her mouth and lit it with a gold lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke," she said after exhaling a cloud of very aromatic, blue smoke.

Richard reached for an ashtray on the writing table. He handed it to her. She turned her body, placing the ashtray on the bed. During this manoeuvre, her legs opened seductively, teasingly.

"I noticed you have a nice bottle of whisky. Could you be a lamb and pour me some? I don't mix it with anything, thanks, love."

Michael was astounded at her forwardness. He took the wrapper off one of the hotel's glasses, being careful not to touch it. He hated to receive a glass smudged by fingerprints. He handed it to the girl, took the bottle and poured her a goodly measure of the single malt. She smiled sweetly and took a sip of the liquor.

"You're not going to have one with me?"

"No. I have to be sober tonight. You still haven't told me what you want?"

The woman pouted and drank the rest of her whisky in one gulp. She set the empty glass down on the bed. "Right. Leon has told me about the little task he's given you. He's merely asked me to see how much progress you've made, urge you on and assist you any way I can. So what is your plan to eliminate Farley? "

"I've already met him and set up a meeting with him at eight o'clock tonight."

Angela finished her cigarette and stubbed it out on the ashtray. Her face manifested a smile of admiration. Her hands began to stroke the outside of her thighs right above her knees where her hemline hovered. "Already, Mr Jansen? Very good! I understand you have quite a bit of pressure on you to hurry. This is impressive. Are you going kill him then?"

Michael noticed talking about a proposed murder seemed to excite her. "No. It's just a preliminary meeting to try to win his confidence so I can do it hopefully later this week."

Her hands moved to rubbing the inside of her lower thighs. "How did you manage to get a meeting with him?"

Her actions and manner excited him more so than any woman had done since 'the process'. His sex drive had diminished to nil because of Leon. Yet this woman stirred him profoundly. He was beginning to become quite erect.

"I met him at a religious meeting. He asked me to meet with him for a Bible study tonight."

Angela stopped all motion for a second. Her manner changed from playful to business-like. She lit another cigarette. "A Bible study! Is he some kind of religious freak? Did you actually go to his church?"

"Yes, this morning."

"I bet they were a bunch of hypocritical, whining, little do-gooders. To believe all that shit about there being a God."

He grimaced at her reply. Not only for what she said but one of his pet peeves had always been beautiful woman who used profanity. "They seemed normal."

Angela sucked a huge lungful of smoke and blew it out with a look of disdain. "They're just fools."

Michael mused for a moment on the way the conversation had gone the past few minutes. "Perhaps, perhaps."

Angela stubbed out her smoke. She looked at him playfully again as she had before. She got off the bed and stood before him as he sat in the chair facing her.

She took one of his hands in hers. "Trust me. The only thing we have in life is what you see. There isn't anything else. We have to make our own selves happy. Sometimes we have to use others. Sometimes the pleasure is mutual."

Her hands were hot on his, causing his heart to race. He both abhorred her advances and at the time desired them all the more. Quickly, she removed one of her hands from his, lifting her skirt. At the same time, her other hand guided his between her legs. She wore no undergarment. He felt her soft, warm moistness for a few seconds. Then, she roughly threw his hand back to him. The coy, sultry act gave way to the cold business- woman.

"This is just a sample of what you can have. You won't get it until you come over to the Company. First, you've got to kill Farley. Have your meeting, tonight. Set up something so you can ambush him. Your life depends on it. And then you can find out about what goodies you can have with us, my dear Mr Jansen. I have to run. I may visit again if things don't happen soon. Ciao, "she said as she turned, moved to the bed, picked up her handbag and sauntered out the door.

# Chapter 19

Michael sat there in a daze. Had what happened really transpired? Had he dreamed it? It was no dream. Her cigarette smoke and perfume lingered in the room. Her scent remained on his fingers. She had really been there.What kind of company or organization employed people like Leon and Angela? They were so bold, powerful and ruthless. Could he fit in with such a group?

Michael reached for his watch that he'd placed on the writing desk. A quarter till six! He'd slept a very long time before the woman had wakened him. He got up from the chair, went to the bathroom and washed his hands and then his face. He changed into more casual clothes. He planned to eat before the meeting to get something in his stomach. He had read that those who fast generally have foul breath. He didn't want to offend Farley in any way.

Michael chose to try the hotel café for a bit of Sunday supper. On his way there, he stopped by the reservation desk, extending his stay at the 'Marriott' till Saturday morning. It was expensive but he figured it was money well spent if he succeeded. If he failed, he would have no need of money. He forced himself to eat slowly, which seemed to ease the disappointment of mealtime. He'd bought a Sunday newspaper in the morning. After his food, he took a seat in the lobby and occupied himself reading and watching for Farley.

At five till eight, Farley and his fiancée entered the lobby. Michael rose to greet them. They moved the chairs around a small table. Farley placed some materials on this table. The discussion revolved around the existence of God. Both Farley and his fiancée had some very cogent proofs. He welcomed questions at any time. Their attitude was one of honest fact-finding, not assertions to believe a particular dogma. Farley made a case that the God who created the world was really the God of the Bible. By this time, the hour had passed. He drew the discussion to close by asking if Michael had any questions about anything they'd talked about.

"No. I believe that's enough for now."

"Would you like to continue the study?"

"Sure. When is a good time for you? And let me come to your home since you were nice enough to come here."

"Tuesday at eight. Is that okay? But it's no bother for me to come back here."

"I insist. Do you live far?'

"No. It's just about fifteen minutes from here in Rutherglen. I'll draw a wee map to get you there. Oh, Cyn won't be able to make it. It'll be just the two of us."

When Michael heard this, his heart skipped a beat. "That would be lovely. I'll be there at eight on Tuesday,"

Farley turned to his fiancée. "It's late. We'd better go."

They shook hands and said farewell leaving Michael a business card with the map drawn on its reverse. They walked out of the lobby, arms around each other.

Michael took the lift to his room. His head was spinning from the effects of the discussion tonight. He knew he would have to rely on his bottle of whisky to get any kind of rest at all.

Before he could imbibe, he had to do two things while he was still sober. First, he must phone Grace to give her an update on his situation. He told her only vague plans, mainly to try to cheer her. They didn't talk long. She seemed to prosper from the call.

Then, he put into practice something that occurred to him during the discussion. Grasping it by the rim and bottom, he carefully examined the glass that Angela had left on his bed. Taking some talc from his bathroom kit, he dusted it. He took a magnifying glass and examined it under the strong light on the desk. There were no fingerprints on it! There were some smudges from the oil of the girl's fingers and lipstick on the rim but no fingerprints! He compared her glass with the one he used. His showed many fine prints easily seen using the talc and glass. Not knowing or wanting to know what all this meant, he poured himself a half- tumbler of whisky and took a healthy swig.

# Chapter 20

Richard Farley sat in his office high up on the fifth floor overlooking Bothwell Street on a gloomy Monday morning. Janet had reminded him he had two visitors he'd agreed to see in appointments scheduled one right after the other. He'd met the first man he was going to see, the councilor. The second, the policeman, was unknown to him. He thought he knew what he was going to hear from the first. He hadn't a clue what the second man wanted.

He was so overloaded with work, he now wished he had put them off till the end of the week. However, the sense of urgency they both brought to their phone calls persuaded him to see them as soon as possible. He'd budgeted only thirty minutes each. He wondered how he could afford that much time. He knew he had to meet with Mr Beachly in Livingston at three. The only way he was going to make that was by eating a sandwich as he drove there. There'd be no time for lunch.

Janet came into his office. "Richard, Councilor Sneddon is already here. Do you want to see him early?"

Thinking that was probably better, he answered, "Yes, please."

The secretary left. In a few seconds, she ushered in a short, rotund man of about fifty. He was dressed expensively from his bespoke shoes to his silk shirt and tie. His hair, which he had trimmed daily, seemed to belong to a much younger man.

"Councilor Sneddon, have a seat. How can I help you?"

"I'll get right to the point as time is short."

"Please do."

"As you know from previous conversations, it may not be in your best interests to continue probing, as you have been, in this blood donation funds accounting."

Richard paused before answering. "We've already been over this before. I've told you how I feel: the fraudulent sale of blood products donated by citizens who expect it to be used by the NHS to help their fellow citizens is a particularly heinous offence. And the fact that several MP's and MSP's may be involved makes it even worse."

"Richard, Richard, we live in an age where black and white, right and wrong are seen as shades of grey. The average man in the street knows that things like this are going on. He even expects it. Almost everybody is fiddling this or that. This isn't something unusual."

Richard was still trying to get over the anger he felt when Sneddon used his first name. "That may be so in many cases. But I don't think your 'man in the street' is going to like it when he needs blood and there's none to give him."

Councilor Sneddon shifted his weight as he sat. "It'll never come to that situation. They'll always be enough blood products available for NHS casualty needs. We're... those involved aren't ogres putting the country at risk."

"Maybe it's as you say. There may be enough for casualty use. But what about all other demands? This scam play a significant part in those long waiting lists the NHS has for surgery. The surgeons can't operate because there's not enough blood for transfusion. The waiting lists often go into years for some surgery. The poor people sometimes can't be helped by surgery anymore after such long delays- delays caused by those illegally selling donated blood to private hospitals in other countries."

Sneddon cleared his throat, shaking his head. "You must understand that the 1940's idea of a national heath scheme is past its 'sell-by date'. People-at least the ones that matter- don't expect government to be responsible for health care anymore. The costs are too high. There's too much of that 'fiddling' I mentioned before from both staff and patients. The only 'cost-effective' method is private medical insurance. You have such insurance, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course. It's part of my compensation, as you know," Richard admitted rather defensively.

"And you've had good service?"

"Yes. So far."

"Then, doesn't that tell you something about efficiency involved in private medicine?"

"Just because I'm privileged to have private insurance as part of my contract with my employer doesn't change the fact that people who can't afford private medicine will have to wait unacceptably long for surgical treatment."

Sneddon could not mask impatience in his manner. "Medical assistance is no longer a responsibility of government. Those who can't afford it must do without. It's 'survival of the fittest' in today's world."

"I'm afraid I don't agree with you. The laws of the land run counter to your thinking, the last time I looked."

"Laws can be changed. Medical treatment must be bought and sold to the highest bidder as a free-market commodity. What these gentlemen are doing is merely exercising the muscles of this system. Nothing more."

"I'm afraid there is more. It's just plain theft. And theft by those appointed to look after the public trust-behind the public's back. It's nothing more than a fraudulent way for some to get rich off the misery of many."

"What does it matter to you? You've got private insurance. So what if a good number of the poor have to suffer. You'll be well taken care of."

Richard fought to control his temper. "If there's a national emergency, for example a terrorist attack, what then? How many will die as a result of doing without blood because your friends have secretly sold it abroad?"

The councilor smoothed his stylish coiffure with his hand. He refrained from answering as if it were a rhetorical question. "I'm sorry you feel this way, Mr Farley. It seems sound reasoning won't change your mind. It's time I use other means at my disposal to get you to see our point of view."

"Such as?"

"The men I represent foresaw you might be a bit reluctant to change your mind judging from your past history. Therefore, they've instructed me to make you quite a generous offer. If you cease all your investigations, they are prepared to reward you with one hundred thousand pounds deposited in a Swiss bank account. I don't think you could get a fairer offer than that?"

Richard clenched his jaws. He exhaled forcefully through his nostrils. "I don't want their money. I'm going ahead with the investigation."

Sneddon stared at him for a moment as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Mr Farley, perhaps you don't understand. The money is something these men needn't give you. However, they feel your cooperation is worth it. If you don't work with them in this matter, you stand to lose much more than money you may have gained. The men involved are quite powerful. They'll stop at nothing to persuade you to stop your digging into their affairs."

"Are you threatening me, Councilor Sneddon?"

"I threaten no one. I'm on your side. A messenger boy. If I were you, I'd discontinue this investigation. Otherwise, I'd cancel any plans for a wedding."

"Cancel the wedding? You mean...?"

Sneddon smiled as he shook his head. "There's no reason for a bright young man like yourself to suddenly meet with grave misfortune. Take the money. Get married. Be happy. Future governments are going to implement these changes anyway. You won't be able to change that, no matter how hard you try. I'm one of the 'good guys'. I'm telling you this for your own good."

Richard eyes locked with Sneddon's for a moment. He rose from his chair. "If that's all you have, Councilor, I'll have to end our discussion."

Sneddon got up, buttoning his fine jacket. "Do think it over. And get back to me in just a few days. I'm afraid my colleagues can't wait for you to come around for much longer. Good day."

Richard sat down, pushing his intercom button. "Janet, please send in my next visitor."

# Chapter 21

Janet opened Richard's office door, ushering in a tall, distinguished man of about fifty. He was dressed in smart suit and tie, stood ram-rod straight. He seemed a perfect example of a career military man. He held out his identification badge. Richard examined it carefully.

"DCI Plummer, London Metropolitan Police," answered Fred.

"Please sit down. How can I be of service, Detective Plummer," Richard asked.

Fred sat nervously as his host followed suit. "Mr Farley, I'm here in a dual capacity, both as a policeman and as a private citizen. I need to make this clear to you from the start."

"I don't understand."

"I must confess I don't understand everything about this situation either. But hear me out. Maybe it will come clear for both of us."

"Carry on."

"There's no easy way to put this: we have reason to believe you're being stalked by an assassin whose life and that of his wife depends on his killing you."

Richard's eyes widened. He said nothing as Fred paused for him to comment. He motioned for him to continue.

"There are quite many unusual circumstances involved here. This is where I must relate to you not as a policeman but as another human being. You see, this prospective assassin is my brother-in-law and my sister, his wife, has given me the information that you are the target. You see why I must wear 'two hats' in this matter?"

"I think so. Please continue."

"I must stress that both his and my sister's lives are at stake. If he doesn't kill you, both my sister and he will die. He's not a professional killer or a criminal of any sort. He's been forced to do all this by people who seem to have picked him at random to do their 'dirty work'. However, my sister tells me he is determined to kill you. And, she's told me he's now in Glasgow. In fact, I know where he's staying."

"Then, it should be easy to pick him up?"

"First of all, we have no authority to arrest him just because he told someone he intends to commit a crime. Perhaps, we could arrange for Strathclyde Police to obtain a warrant to search where he's staying. That's me speaking as a DCI. Speaking as a private citizen, we can't do that."

Richard felt his face begin to flush. "You can't just let him kill me! If someone is going to kill him, you can protect him before they can do him any harm.'

Fred's voice took on a conciliatory tone. "Of course, we're not going to allow him to kill you, Mr Farley. However, we can't protect him or my sister from death."

"How can that be? Surely, you can put him and your sister in some sort of protective custody?"

Fred leaned forward in his chair. "That's impossible. You see, criminals have infected my sister and her husband with a sort of terminal illness. The only way they can be cured is by depending on whoever's behind all this to give them the antidote. Those people won't do it unless my brother-in-law succeeds in killing you."

Richard was speechless for a moment as he tried to absorb what this detective was telling him. "So what can we do?"

Fred sighed with relief at his host's helpful attitude. "First of all, it's possible he's tried to make contact with you in one way or another. Have you met anyone new in the last few days?"

Richard immediately thought about his meeting with Councilor Sneddon and the thinly-veiled malice he brought with him. However, he was an old opponent. Then he thought about yesterday.... "Yes. Just yesterday. Do you have a photo of this man?"

Fred reached inside his breast pocket, presenting Farley with a recent likeness of Michael. Richard took it in his hands and gazed at it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention as he recognized it was the man he and his beloved met yesterday. A chill came over him when he remembered this was also the man he'd invited to his home for tomorrow.

The detective noticed his reaction. "He's approached you, then?"

"Yes. We've agreed to meet again tomorrow at my home at eight."

Fred pulse quickened at this news. "Why a meeting there?"

"Yesterday, he came to the church meeting I regularly attend. I met him at his hotel lobby. We had a discussion about belief in God. I invited him to continue it at my home on Tuesday."

"Right. It might be wise to postpone that appointment."

"I hope so! He's probably picked that time to kill me."

"Probably. You two have got to meet though."

"What do you mean? Why would I want to be anywhere near a man who wants to murder me?"

Fred exhaled sharply. "Mr Farley, the only answer I have to that is that you're my sister and brother-in-law's only hope to get out of this alive."

"But what can I possibly do to help either of them?"

"I don't know. I'm just grabbing at any straw that might save them. Haven't you ever been in a position where you'll claw at the tiniest fragment of hope because you love someone?"

Richard was struck by what the inspector said. He applied it in a spiritual sense. He saw that before it came to spiritual salvation, here was a case where he'd have to extend himself for two persons' physical salvation. At what cost?

"Okay. Tell me what you want."

Fred was overwhelmed by Farley's desire to cooperate. "I have to see the Strathclyde Police officials as soon as possible. We'll confer as to what's the best way to handle this. When can I get back with you this afternoon?"

"I won't be to the office after lunch. I have several appointments I have to drive to. Where are you staying? Perhaps I could meet you at your hotel?"

"I'm at the 'Jury's Inn' on Jamaica Street."

"Why don't I meet you in the lobby at seven?"

"Fine. Don't leave the building alone. Don't go home either. Come straight from your appointments to the hotel."

"Right. At seven then."

They both rose and clasped hands. "I'm so glad for your help since it affects the lives of my two closest relatives."

"Let's do our best."

DCI Plummer walked out of the office. Richard sat back down, swallowed hard and tried to make sense of what he'd just heard.

# Chapter 22

Michael spent another tiresome night. The effects of the alcohol and his ever-growing starvation made sleep a patchy situation. His overworked brain had great difficulty coming to rest. When it did and he got an hour or two of sleep, his mind just began to go round and round once he awoke. He'd been bombarded with so much information to assimilate in such a short time. He'd been asked to make life-or-death decisions that depended on action from no one but himself. All this did not make for peaceful rest.

The scheduled Tuesday meeting with Farley filled him with hope that he could accomplish his grim task. However, Michael knew it wasn't wise to depend on this meeting alone. That's why he had the hotel give him a wake-up call at six on Monday morning. He wasn't going to waste time sitting in a hotel room. He needed to do reconnaissance of his quarry and formulate alternate plans should the one on Tuesday be unsuitable.

When the alarm call came, he dressed as quickly as possible for a man in his condition. He decided to forgo any attempt at breakfast to save time. He made his way to the car park by what seemed to be a cross-country journey. Painfully, he got into the car and consulted his street map of Glasgow once more. Somewhat assured he could find the way, he pointed the Clio in the direction of Richard Farley's home once again. As before, during his first trip to Farley's home, rain was pelting down.

The trip to Rutherglen took him only about half an hour as he'd learned from his mistakes on Saturday. He cruised by Farley's home on Limeside Avenue. Although it was still fully dark, the monochromic streetlights illuminated well enough for Michael to confirm the address. He returned to the street, parking on the opposite side of the street and about fifty metres from Farley's door. At this time of day, the street was very quiet with hardly any traffic, either motor or pedestrian. Putting on a broad-brim hat he'd brought with him to fend off the rain, he slouched in his seat, pulled the hat down to just above eye level, trying to appear as if he was catching a nap. However, his gaze was glued to Farley's house, the lower storey of which was already lit.

At quarter- past seven, he was rewarded by seeing the lights extinguished. The door opened and a man came out. It was Farley. He locked the door, raising the hood of his jacket over his head because of the rain. He was carrying a large sports bag. Walking swiftly to a small automobile, he took his seat and immediately started the engine. Michael slumped down in his seat all the more as Farley's headlamps were directed towards him, their cars being opposite. Hoping he wasn't noticed, Michael noted the direction Farley turned, switched on the engine, turned around in the road and followed him. He'd thought he'd lost him then noticed his Toyota ahead. It was quite early for the rush-hour traffic. Few vehicles were using the roads. Michael kept well behind so he wouldn't give himself away. He even allowed one or two cars to get between him and Farley.

Farley's destination was the city centre. As they neared the heavier traffic, Michael became very careful not to lose Farley. As they entered Bothwell Street, he realized that they were close to Farley's workplace. Farley turned into a small lane parallel to Bothwell Street. As Michael passed, he noticed him stopping and waiting for the garage door to open. Without making an obvious quick stop, he had to satisfy himself by going around the block with the intention of driving down this little lane. However, due to Glasgow's one-way city centre road system, this took much longer than he expected. When he finally entered the lane, he saw the garage door that Farley had entered closing and a man carrying a sports bag walking ahead of him on the left side of the lane. It was Farley! Knowing that stopping would attract Farley's attention, he carried on along the lane. He lowered his hat brim and raised his left hand as if to scratch his ear. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait for traffic as he turned onto the main street.

He remembered something Farley had told him in the prosaic chit-chat they had had at the church meeting on Sunday: Farley had mentioned that he liked to 'work-out' at a sports centre every other day. He recalled him saying his sports centre was located on the same street and very close to his workplace. Farley had remarked that he preferred the place because it opened at eight. This allowed him time to exercise, shower and get to work by nine. Apparently, Farley left his car from his workplace basement garage and then walked to the sports centre.

Michael evaluated the events of the morning. He'd done a fairly successful bit of reconnoitering. He'd seen where Farley worked. He'd discovered a bit about his time schedule. And he had no evidence Farley or anyone else had detected him doing this. He could think of no good reason to do any more investigation. Farley would return to his office by nine and probably stay there all day. Perhaps he would 'shadow' him further as he left work. Accompanied by dizziness and nausea, Michael felt an overwhelming feeling of fatigue. He had to rest. Once again, he consulted his street plan and headed back to his hotel.

# Chapter 23

Richard Farley didn't mind staying in a hotel room for a night or two. He didn't mind that he didn't have to foot the bill. What he did mind was that he had to hide like some rat in a hole. DCI Plummer had explained his plan. Richard listened carefully. He could think of nothing else. The policeman's idea seemed to be the only way for a successful conclusion to this situation.

What a dangerous situation! He'd never been caught in anything like this. He'd never heard a story like the one brought by the London inspector. He'd never been faced with such a decision. Should he decline to cooperate in just the way Plummer wanted, his prospective killer and his wife would surely die. Yet, if he did so, he might die. The detective was very clear about that when they met in the lobby and had a long discussion over dinner. That's why he suggested Richard should not go home but stay at the 'Jury's Inn' for a couple of nights. It was the hotel the policeman used. They could be in close communication so they could better be able to follow the plans that were made. And it provided protection from his pursuer from attacking him at his home.

He knew he had the right to turn down participation in the detective's plan. He could take a couple of week's holiday. He could even leave the country. By that time, according to Plummer, his prospective assassin would be dead. However, whoever sponsored him would probably continue to hire killers to eliminate him. By cooperating, perhaps the person who wanted him dead could be arrested. It was risky. What wasn't dangerous in this life?

He was worn out from the labours of his work -day and the meeting with Plummer. Knowing he had another full schedule for tomorrow, he decided to turn in. As was his usual practice, he committed all his apprehensions and fears to his God and then drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Michael rested on his bed as best he could. Sleep did not come because of his restless state. He left his room about ten so the maid could minister to his room. He ordered a late breakfast at the coffee shop. Both restraining and forcing himself, as his strange condition forced him to do, he managed to eat most of it. He returned to his room finding that the girl had done her job. He could think of nothing he could accomplish concerning Farley. He was afraid to return to watch Farley's home for fear he would recognize the car. What would further surveillance of his home accomplish anyway? He could think of nothing he could do until the Tuesday evening visit. Uncorking his single malt, he poured himself a large measure and began to sip the fiery contents. He figured he had nothing more to do today until his usual call to Grace at eight. He might as well let the alcohol put him in a relaxed state.

Michael drank and dozed for what seemed like hours. He finished another drink, only to find his bottle of whisky was empty. That would never do! He must get some more. He tried to get off the bed. The room started to spin around. He lost his balance and fell to the floor, trying to hang on to the merry-go-round his room had suddenly become. The room began to spin faster and faster until things went meaningless and black.

* * *

Michael somehow found himself back in his home in his own bedroom. He lay on his bed completely nude. He was lying on his belly. Next to him was Grace, also unclothed, in a prone position. She appeared to be sleeping. As he looked at her, he felt himself becoming aroused. Strangely, he couldn't move.

Suddenly, the door opened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leon come into the bedroom. He was dressed in tight black leather trousers that were made crotchless, revealing his huge erect phallus. His skin was flushed and his bare chest looked as if it had been oiled. Behind him, Angela entered. Her firm breasts were covered in nothing but sweat or oil. Her lower garment, if it could be called that, was a black leather thong that was finished with a large black dildo upraised at exactly the same angle as Leon's penis. They both had fiendish grins on their faces as they advanced- Leon going to Michael, Angela to Grace. Grace opened her eyes and peered back at them. She looked at Michael with an expression of panic and fear. He realized she was paralyzed, as well. Leon got on the bed straddling Michael, Angela doing the same with Grace. Leon placed burning hands on Michael's buttocks. Angela did the same with his wife. He could almost feel the Leon thrust himself into him, when Leon disappeared, then Angela and finally Grace and his bedroom were no more.

* * *

Michael was lying on the floor of his hotel room. He was covered in sweat and he needed to be sick in the worst way. He began to crawl to the bathroom. He just made it, emptying the contents of his stomach down the toilet pan. He lay there, completely exhausted for some time, before he became insensible once more.

He awoke and very slowly got to his feet. He drank some water and washed his face with cold water. He noticed it was already dark outside. He went to his bed on wobbly legs, looking at his watch. It was quarter-past eight! It was past time to phone Grace. He fumbled for his mobile and thumbed her number.

"Grace, it's me."

"Mike, you're late. Is something wrong?'

"No. Everything's fine," he lied.

"I'm worried sick about you."

"Don't worry. How are you feeling?"

She sighed, "The same."

"How are Lyndsey and Rob? Are they asking a lot of questions?"

"They're beginning to. But it's not bad."

"Is Fred helping?"

She paused for a moment. "Yes. He's been a lamb. I'm glad I still have him."

He paused to try to control his emotion. "I think I can finish this tomorrow night. I've really been lucky with an opportunity then. So I'll phone you tomorrow at nine. Hopefully, it'll be to tell you I've booked the next flight to London."

"I'd love that. I miss you so much! How I wish all this was over and you were back home."

"Me, as well, love. I think that's what'll happen tomorrow. So don't lose heart."

"I'll try as hard as I can, dear."

"Okay, then. I'll phone you tomorrow nine or a little later. Okay?"

"I'll be waiting. What else can I do?"

"I love you, honey."

"And I, you. "

"'Bye, love"

Michael switched off his mobile, placing it on the nightstand. His head was pounding with pain. Nausea still gripped him. He knew he mustn't have any more alcohol. He must straighten up for the task ahead of him. He needed to be in the best condition his nutrition-starved body would let him. He had to have a clear head for what he was going to do. With that in mind, Michael reached for the remote control and turned on the telly. He would just lie low and try to recover as much as he could until eight o'clock tomorrow evening.

# Chapter 24

Leon was just close to finishing off a Partagas corona deluxe with a snifter of Remy- Martin, when his office phone rang. He cursed loudly especially at the person who would dare call him while he was in such a pleasant reverie. When his phone indicated it was Angela, he decided to answer.

"My angel, what do you have for me."

The feminine voice replied, "Just reporting on the progress of the Jansen case."

"Well, go, girl. Let's hope it's good news. For your sake."

"It is good news. I visited him in his hotel room last night."

Leon began puffing hard on his cigar. "How did he like sampling some of the joys of being a Company Member? I remember some of the magnificent things you can do with that tongue of yours. I hope you didn't wear him out so he's of no use to us? Tell me all the juicy details."

"Sorry to disappoint you on the 'fucking and sucking' front. Circumstances got in the way. And anyway it's my policy to just give them a quick taste of what they can have at first. It makes them all the more excited."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping to hear about sexual depravity that would put the Marquis de Sade to shame."

"There's plenty of time for that. That may be the reward my little pet will get if he does a good job."

"How close is he to doing a good job? Has he done anything yet?"

"You'll be pleased to know that he's got an invitation to Farley's home for tomorrow evening and that they are going to be alone together in the house."

Leon paused as he finished the last of his cognac. "That's capital, love! How did you achieve that?"

Angela paused a short time before answering. "Just skill, Leon. And when you hear why he's meeting with Farley, you'll be even more amazed."

"Go ahead. Amaze me, pet lamb."

"He's going to Farley's house for a Bible study."

"A what?"

"A Bible study! He visited Farley's church group on Sunday and managed to pretend to have an interest in religion. Farley is one of those do-gooders who constantly solicits people for Bible discussion. Jansen jumped at the chance to get him alone in his house. I think it's positively hilarious. This Jansen 'offs' the guy while they study the Bible. While Farley shows him about faith, hope and charity, Jansen shows him the barrel of a pistol. While Jansen hears the words of Jesus speaking peace and love, Farley hears the blast of a nine-millimetre sidearm. While Jansen's heart is filled with the love of God, Farley's chest is filled with lead. How ironic! How Satanic!"

"I hope you're right, my little strawberry tart."

"Don't worry, Leon. I have every confidence he'll get this job done. After my little taste of what he can have, he'll come running to me like a greyhound after the track rabbit."

"I certainly hope so. Are you going to visit him again before Tuesday?"

"Yes. I'll give him a little more 'encouragement'."

"You be sure to explain every debauched thing you do in your next report. That's an order."

"Be glad to, if it'll do you any good."

"It'll do me a lot of good, sweet lips."

"If that's all then, I've got 'work' to do."

"And some work it is! Phone me tomorrow night," he said and then put the phone down.

# Chapter 25

As Michael lay in bed, sick and weak, he heard someone knocking at his door. He looked at his watch. It was one o'clock, Tuesday afternoon. It couldn't be the maid; she'd already come. He heard a voice beckoning from behind the door. It was Angela. This was no dream.

He struggled to his feet. He trudged to the door, opening it with great difficulty. Angela greeted him with a smile. She had a long leather overcoat on against the cold and rainy weather. She breezed in as she had the first time. Michael closed the door behind her.

"Mr Jansen. So good to see you again," she said smiling.

"Is it?" he replied, listlessly.

She noticed his sickly appearance. "Are you not feeling very well?"

"No, I'm suffering from a combination of hunger and some kind of bug."

She tried not to recoil from his foul breath. "Perhaps you'd better sit down on the bed. You look very rough."

Michael did as she suggested. The girl actually had to help him. "Process 117 puts your body at risk to infection. No vitamins or minerals are metabolized. Also, you may have been drinking too much alcohol. That could do it, as well. Leon should've briefed you on the potential dangers you have to face. Are you eating regularly to keep your intestinal tract working?"

"Yes. But it doesn't seem to do me any good. In fact, I have to be sick right now," he said as he got off the bed and ran to the bath.

Angela moved slightly, allowing him to pass. She heard him vomiting in the toilet pan. Taking a cigarette from a silver case in her coat pocket, she lit up and took several puffs until Michael emerged from the bath.

"Sorry. What do you want?" he asked.

She put her cigarette down in the ashtray on the desk. Unbuttoning her long overcoat, she revealed a completely nude body. Michael's eyes surveyed her stunning apple-shaped breasts, flat midriff and natural red bush.

"I was going to offer you a little better taste of what the Company can offer you. But I can see you're in no shape to appreciate it. Do you think you can go to this meeting tonight?"

"Yes. If I rest for the next few hours."

"I agree. What I was planning to do with you might make it impossible for you to do the job tonight. So, we'll have to make it another time. It's a shame. I was feeling really experimental today, doing things you've probably only dreamed of," she said with a wry smile as she re-buttoned her overcoat.

"Right."

"I'll go now. You can do it. Rest. Perhaps get a little fresh air and then do it tonight. The next time we meet, I hope you'll be back to normal. Then I can show you things beyond your wildest imagination. Ciao."

She left quickly, not looking back. Michael lay back on his bed, closed his eyes and tried to rest.

# Chapter 26

Michael's time had come. It was time to go to Farley's home for the arranged Bible study. It was time for him to become a murderer- time to finish it.

He had stayed in his room all day with just brief periods of going outdoors to get some fresh air. Throughout the day, his condition had not improved much. The feeling of nausea never fully left him. A headache lingered even now. Exercise and fresh air help somewhat, although it tired him greatly. He was not feeling ready. However, it was time.

He checked the revolver, carefully affixing the silencer. As Leon didn't provide a holster, he experimented with several different ways to carry the weapon without detection. He finally settled on stuffing it in the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. It would be concealed by the blazer he had decided to wear under his overcoat.

Michael decided to fly back to London. As he would jettison the weapon, he felt he could safely get through any security check. Besides, he couldn't wait to get back to Grace. He didn't have time for eight hours on a bus or train. He had already booked himself a seat on the late Shuttle to Heathrow.

He made sure nothing amiss at his hotel room and he made his way to the car park. As he took his seat, he noticed that he couldn't drive with a piece of ordnance jamming him in the back. Carefully, he removed it. He placed it under the passenger seat making a mental note to drive as safely and lawfully as possible. Having a road accident or being stopped by a traffic policeman was the last thing he needed.

The night was cold and clear. Seven-thirty on a Tuesday evening didn't seem to be a high -volume traffic time. He made it to Rutherglen quicker than he had ever done so. Parking the car on Limeside Avenue, he made sure he didn't get too close to Farley's house in case someone might remember the car. The lights were on in the lower storey, yet Michael didn't notice Farley's car. Perhaps, he had to park it farther down the avenue as parking seemed to be at a premium on this street. He reached under the seat for the revolver, placing it in its concealed position under his blazer.

As he walked to Farley's door, his heart sank as he saw there was a piece of paper attached to his front door. Farley had left him a message. He tore it from the door and read:

Dear Michael,

I'm afraid I can't make it for the Bible discussion tonight. However, tomorrow I've re-scheduled time at my sports club from one-thirty to eight allowing us to meet at one-thirty. If possible, please meet me in the 'Marriott' lobby at this time. If you have to leave for home before this, I've attached a tract that has the address of a group of Christians that meet in Greater London whom I know will welcome you and provide you with a useful Bible discussion. I hope to see you tomorrow, but if we don't meet again, God bless you in your search for the truth.

Sincerely,

Richard

Michael cursed bitterly. He stuffed the message and the tract into his overcoat pocket. Had Farley smelled a rat? Was he on to him? Nothing in the message seemed to indicate that. It was just damned rotten luck. He went to his car, removed the revolver again and threw himself in the seat.

He started the Clio and carefully drove back to the 'Marriott'. As he drove, plans and strategies coursed through his mind. He made it back to the car park without mishap. As he got out of the car, he concealed the pistol again. He opened the boot. He put the pistol in it. He dragged himself to the lift and then to his room.

As he removed his overcoat, he took out the letter Farley had left him. He re-read Farley's letter, just to make sure he had the times correctly noted.

Michael knew what he must do. The message had said that Farley was going to meet him at the 'Marriott' at half-past one. Obviously, he wouldn't have a chance to shoot him there. However, Farley had written that he was going to his sports club at eight. He recalled that the street wasn't too busy at this time. He remembered that route he took. He had to try to do it on the street. Perhaps it could be done.

He would do it on foot. After the killing, he would walk nonchalantly hail a cab to the airport and take a re-scheduled Shuttle to Heathrow. This had to work. He had no more time.

He phoned the airline and re-scheduled his flight plans at great expense. A few pounds didn't matter now. Unfortunately, he could only get a one-thirty flight, which left him with several hours wait before he could finally leave Glasgow. Then, it was time to phone Grace.

"Mike! Are you all right?"

"Yes dear. I'm fine."

"Did you...do it? Did you kill him?"

"I'm afraid not. There's been a slight change of plans. It'll have to be tomorrow morning. I think I can do it tomorrow morning."

There was a pause on the other line. "Grace, are you all right?"

She was crying now. "I can't go on like this for much longer. What are we going to do?"

He tried to show great control and confidence. "I know what I'm going to do. I should be on the one-thirty Shuttle. Keep by your phone tomorrow. I'll tell you how it all went. And then it'll be all finished. I promise."

"Be careful. Please come back. Don't leave me alone anymore."

"I won't, love. I won't. I'll phone you tomorrow between eight and ten. Okay?"

"Right. I'll be here."

"Goodbye for now, Grace."

"Goodbye, Mike."

Michael switched off, put his mobile on the nightstand and began to weep uncontrollably. When the spasms of grief ended, he straightened up as he sat on the edge of his bed and determinedly reviewed the plans for tomorrow.

# Chapter 27

Michael spent the night trying to rest. He got little sleep. The hours dragged by. He was not at all well. He had a marked fever. This made him very thirsty. He drank several glasses of water. This only made him feel sick to his stomach. His head throbbed in pain. The nausea and weakness became more pronounced as the night progressed. And tonight, the desire for food overwhelmed all else.

As he had last night, he went over his plans- simple as they were. He would drive his rented car into one of the city centre parking garages. He decided to leave it there, using taxis to get around thereafter. Michael didn't want any traffic mishaps to occur during travel to the hotel or airport. Due to his physical decline, he felt it was wise to drive only the short distance from the ''Marriott'' to the city centre garage. He would walk to the lane off Bothwell Street arriving about half-past seven waiting for Farley to come from the parking garage. He would approach him as if to greet him and then empty the revolver into his chest from less than five metres as Leon had instructed. Then, he would casually walk away, turn down the next street and hail a cab for his hotel where no one could know he stayed. He planned to wait at his hotel until time for the flight. The plans were so simple.

And everything worked to plan. Michael was in the lane when Farley exited the garage. He approached him, hailed him and emptied the revolver into his chest. Farley lay motionless on the ground. For Michael, it all seemed to happen in a play- as if he were merely acting a part. Following a script, his character walked away from the fallen man, meeting no one in the alley. He joined a crowded main street as if he were playing a scene. It couldn't be real.

What was real to Michael was that he was compelled to go to that café. He knew he should get a taxi without delay. This was wise. This was logical. However, starving people often act without any wisdom or logic. After his meal at the café, by some miracle, Michael was in a taxi on his way to his hotel. Farley was dead yet he was free! There were no police cars chasing the taxi. He couldn't believe it.

The trip to the 'Marriott' was short and uneventful. Painfully, he took the lift to his room, all the while expecting the police to stop him. He entered his room finding it the way he left it. No ambush. No sign of anyone else having been there. He flopped down in the bed, physically and mentally exhausted. He must've dozed off for a time. Then, he realized he must confirm the booking on the Shuttle to Heathrow. He got up and used his mobile to contact the BA reservations desk. He was okay for the one-thirty flight. He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty! He must've slept for a much longer time that he thought. Michael slowly rose from the bed intending to pack his cases. He became light-headed even though he got up very deliberately. He looked at his clothing- some dirty, some clean, some hung up on hangers, some strewn on the carpet. Slowly, he packed it all in his two cases. Such was his weakness, that it was eleven before he had finished this. He looked at his luggage. It seemed as if his two cases were ton- weight objects impossible to move. He phoned the front desk asking for a porter. A porter came in about five minutes. It seemed like a half hour to Michael. They made their way to the lift traveling down to the desk where he tipped the porter generously.

"Can I help you, sir," a smartly -dressed clerk asked with a smile.

Michael tried to smile back. "I'd like to check out please."

"Certainly, sir," she said as she accepted his key and began to access his file.

"Also, I need to have my cases shipped to my home address. I won't be taking them with me."

The girl beckoned the porter who took the cases behind the desk and into the hotel's post room for weighing. "Very well, sir. I'll just add that shipping and handling fee onto your bill. They won't go out till six, I'm afraid."

"That's fine. After all the charges were totaled, Michael signed for the debt on his credit card. "Could you phone me a taxi for the airport, please?"

"Glad to, sir."

Michael began to feel faint. The colour drained from his face. He began to sink down a bit having to hang onto the desk.

"Are you not feeling well, sir?" the girl asked as she came out from around the desk to assist Michael.

She took hold of his arm and helped him to a chair in the lobby. "Will you be all right? Should I phone for an ambulance?"

"No. Thank you. I'm fine. I just can't stay on my feet for very long."

Seeing that he had regained his colour, the clerk went back behind the desk. "Very well, sir. I'll phone for that taxi now."

Michael began to feel better. Soon, a taxi driver entered the lobby, shouting his name. He slowly rose and trudged to the taxi, waving goodbye to the kindly clerk.

The hour and a quarter flight from Glasgow to London Heathrow should have been a pleasant affair. There were many empty seats. He managed to get one that had no-one sitting next to him. He could stretch out in the comfortable first class service British Airways provide on their Shuttle. However, the combination of intense starvation and air pressure and speed changes proved almost overwhelming for Michael. He suffered from nausea, dizziness, even periods of blackout. The air quality and temperature changes made him feel as if he were being smothered and alternately baked and frozen. Despite it being only a short flight, his misery seemed to last for hours. He was never so glad as when the wheels hit the tarmac. Hopefully, he would feel better after leaving the cabin. Carefully and ever so painfully, he exited the craft making his way to ground transport. He did feel better on the ground than in the air.

He secured a taxi to his daughter's home. He had phoned Grace from the airport in Glasgow when he found out that the flight would be on time. She had said that their daughter had volunteered to pick him up at Heathrow. He declined citing his desire to save her fighting the traffic congestion around Heathrow. At about half past three, the taxi deposited Michael before the block of flats his daughter called home. He buzzed the correct flat and made it to the lift. On coming out of the lift, there before him stood Grace and Lyndsey.

Grace looked horrible. Her face was drawn and haggard, her hair disheveled. They moved toward one another in the lift lobby in a sort of slow-motion ballet, colliding, embracing, and viewing each other through a blur of tears. Neither spoke until they released each other.

Lyndsey moved in to her father, embracing him ever so gently as if he might break if she squeezed too hard. "Dad. It's so good to see you! Let me help you in."

"I can make it on my own! "he said as they all went inside the flat.

Lyndsey helped him take off his jacket. She set her parents on the sofa. "I'll get us all a nice cup of tea," she announced as she went into the kitchen.

"Did you really do it?" she asked when her daughter was out of earshot.

"Yes, dear. It's all over. Somehow I escaped without getting caught. I still don't believe it. I can't really believe I'm here."

"Well, you are. And I'm so glad. But I don't think I can go through with meeting Leon. I'm so afraid."

"We have to, you know. If he doesn't fix us up, then we're no worse than before."

"I know, but it's so hard to face someone who's done this to us."

He took her hand. "We can do it."

Their daughter came into the lounge with the tea tray set it down and began serving them. "I think we could all use some tea."

They took a sip or two of tea. "Very good tea, sweetheart," Michael noted.

"Never mind the tea. Could you tell me what's going on? I can't seem to get anything out of mum."

"What makes you think there's anything 'going on'?"

"First of all you have to go on an unscheduled 'road trip'. Then, mum wants to stay with us while you're gone. Now, that's never happened before."

"These things happen in business."

"Perhaps. But why is mum so sickly? Why did she take emergency leave from her work? And why do you look like something the cat dragged in?"

"That's not a nice way to talk about your father, Lyndsey," Grace interjected.

"But it's true. He looks as poorly as you, mum. It's like both of you've been sick for days without eating. I think you both have dropped at least a stone each. And Uncle Fred keeps showing up. That's really unusual. Tell me what's going on."

Michael's hand that held his teacup began to shake uncontrollably. He swiftly set the cup down in embarrassment. "Baby girl, bear with us. We'll be able to tell much more very soon. But for now, just trust us. Okay?"

Grace added, "Yes, Lyndsey. We'll be able to tell you everything tonight."

"Tonight? Why tonight? Why not now?

"We have to go somewhere soon. After that, we'll be able to tell you everything," Michael said with an air of finality.

Lyndsey just sipped her tea for a few seconds. "Okay. I'll go with you."

"No, we have to do this on our own," her father replied.

"You just stay here. Rob and Jeremy will be back from football practice soon. They'll be wanting their dinner," her mother pointed out.

"But what about your dinner."

"Don't worry about it. Just save us some. We'll microwave it when we get back," said her dad.

Just then Rob came through the door. "Dad, you're back!

Michael tried to get up off the couch but thought better of it. Instead, he just shook his son-in-law's hand. Four-year old Jeremy burst through the door and ran up to his grandfather. They shared a big hug.

"Granda, I scored a goal today! And guess what? Nana's been sick with the 'ful'," the boy mispronounced eagerly.

"That's great, son. I mean, the goal. And you mean 'the flu'."

"I said that, Granda. When's dinner. I'm starving."

"Me too, Jeremy. Run along into the kitchen. I think it's about ready," Michael suggested as the little boy scampered away.

Lyndsey went into the kitchen to see to dinner. Rob went into the bedroom to change out of his sport gear.

Michael took his wife's hand in his once again. "We'd better freshen up and get ready to go. We don't want to be late."

Grace nodded resignedly. "I suppose so."

They alternately used the bath to try to inject some energy into their systems.

By the time they were finished, Rob went in for a shower. He managed to grab Jeremy so he could give him a good wash, as well. Lyndsey continued to prepare the meal. By the time, Rob and his son emerged from the bath, clean and dressed for dinner, the Jansen's had their cue.

"Rob, Lyndsey, We've got to go now. We'll be back as soon as we can. Then we can pack up your Mum and you can have some extra space here."

"You're sure you have to go?" their daughter asked.

"Quite sure," said her mother.

"We'll be back for a late dinner," Michael said as they donned their coats with difficulty.

Michael ruffled Jeremy's hair, "See you later, alligator."

Jeremy replied, "After a smile, crocodile."

Grace cuddled the child as if it were her last time. "Be good, Jeremy."

"Okey-dokey-smokey, Nana."

They went out the door. They could barely find the lift for their tears. They left the building and walked arm-in-arm to the street. After some time trying, Michael hailed a cab. He directed the driver to take them to Tooting Bec subway station.

# Chapter 28

When they arrived, Michael paid yet another cab fee. They entered the station, eyes darted here and there looking for Leon. As happened before, as if out of nowhere, he appeared beside them.

"On time, Mr Jansen. And we meet again, Mrs Jansen. What a privilege! Let's go to my car. We can transact our business there."

The Jansen's followed Leon, who was smoking his ubiquitous cheroot with great gusto. They didn't speak until Leon led them several streets south of the station. They went down a side street to where a sleek BMW saloon was parked. He opened the door for them and motioned them into the rear seat. He sat in the driving seat.

"You've done good work for Mr Jansen. Not only destroying the assigned target, but escaping arrest in the process. The Company likes men such as yourself. You seem to be a winner. By completing this mission, you've successfully passed a preliminary test. I know you were forced to do this particular task and none of us likes to be forced. I know I've been hard on you, trying to impress upon you the power that we in Company have at our disposal. But all that's over. Future missions will be completely voluntary. They will not be completed merely to avoid punishment but for unbelievable gain. Each one you perform will open the door wider so you can get a glimpse of the power you may control, of the pleasures you may enjoy and the riches that may be at your disposal. How does that sound?"

"Too good to be true," Michael answered.

"I can assure it's all true and it can be all yours. You'll understand more in the future. For now, you have a more pressing need."

He reached into his inside coat pocket taking out a black tube. "I'll now reverse the procedure that is currently killing both of you. It will take effect immediately. Anything you eat will now be metabolized. And the beauty of it is that you can eat full meals from the beginning. In cases of natural starving, it's always best to start slowly. But, you may eat normally. The body will begin to use all the nutrients available from the start. You should both be back to normal in a few days. I think we have an old saying, 'Ladies first'. And I'm sure you're a lady, Mrs J."

He held the tube against Grace's arm. "And now you, Mr Jansen."

He repeated the action with Michael. He felt a slight stinging sensation.

"That's all there is to it," Leon said as he replaced the tube in his pocket. "I'll contact you in the near future for news of prospects that will astound you. Oh, I'm afraid I'm not going your way. So if you'll be kind enough to let me go."

Without a word, they got out of the car. Leon waved jauntily at them as he moved off into the street. He hadn't gotten far when another car exited a side street and blocked his progress. Leon braked hard and made a sharp turn down another narrow street. At the same time, an unmarked police car bearing a siren and flashing light stopped beside the Jansen's. The driver was none other than DCI Fred Plummer.

"Get in quickly and strap in. We've got him ringed in. He can't get away."

Michael helped Grace get into the rear seat. He got in beside her. "How did you know about all this?"

"I'll tell you everything later. Mike. Let's follow that car and see this Leon get what's coming to him."

Fred drove off quickly. He got on his radio, asking questions and barking orders. Driving down one street and another, he received a message that the Jansen's heard as a garbled speech. Fred made a quick U-turn, zoomed down another street dodging traffic like a race car driver. This street was a cul-de-sac.The police had forced their quarry onto this street. He would be trapped.

Unfortunately for Leon, he must've been going too fast to brake in time. He crashed into the corner of one of the buildings. The passenger compartment not only was severely smashed but burning furiously from petrol leaking from the smashed engine.

Fred got out of the car ordering the Jansen's to stay put while he went for a closer look. Michael and Grace obeyed Fred. They just watched as DCI Plummer advanced on the two drivers of the chase car. They had to stop their car about fifty metres from the wreck because of the risk of explosion. They were both out of the car using the doors as protection as they surveyed the chances of rescuing the occupant. Then, just as Fred approached them, the petrol tank exploded. The police officers crouched behind their car doors. The BMW saloon was a mass of flame and twisted metal.

The three policemen got into their car. They reversed away from the burning vehicle, parking next to Fred's car. The Jansen's watched as two other police cars which had been pursuing Leon entered the street. Fred and the other drivers exited their car and met with the men in the two newly -arrived cars. After a few minutes, a fire siren was heard and a pumper arrived. The drivers reversed their vehicles out of the cul-de-sac to allow it to pass. An ambulance arrived next as the pumper began to spray foam on the burning automobile.

Fred returned to the car and briefed the Jansen's. "The petrol tank exploded. Judging from the impact and vehicle damage, it was unlikely the driver was alive even before the fire. No one could've survived that blast. It looks like that's the end of Leon."

# Chapter 29

They were speechless.

"Grace, Leon did reverse the process on you both?

"He put the tube to both our arms. He said it we were back to normal," she replied.

"Thank God, Grace." Fred put his arm around his sister's neck clutching her to him.

"Mike, I know you've had a hard time of it. I also know both of you must be very hungry. You should both go to hospital. It's very dangerous to begin to eat solid food if you've been starving for a great while."

"Leon said we may eat normally now. Our bodies will automatically compensate. We probably can believe him," Michael explained.

"Well, then. Perhaps the most appropriate place to go now would be the nearest restaurant. I know the very place. Very close. There, I'll explain more fully what's been going on. I know you're in the dark on most of it. But it's all over now."

"I'm very confused."

"I'll explain everything," Fred said as he drove away, phoning in his destination to the dispatcher.

In a few minutes, they entered a small diner. It wasn't very crowded. They secured a booth for privacy. Taking up the menu, they began to choose their meal.

"Maybe it's best to just have something light. Just in case," the detective warned.

"I've been eating right along, just to keep the digestive system working", said Michael.

"Me, as well. But, you're probably right to play it safe," added Grace. "I'll just have an egg-mayonnaise on wheat."

"And a tuna and salad on white for me," said Michael.

"A ham and cheese croissant for me," Fred announced.

The waitress took their order. Quickly, she brought a pot of tea. While Grace did the honours with the tea, Fred began to explain to Michael how everything had come about as it had.

"I know you have many questions. First, though, let tell you this: you're not a murderer. You've killed no one. Richard Farley is alive and well!"

"That's impossible. I shot him six times in the chest at point blank range. How could he still be alive?"

Fred took a sip of tea his sister had just given him. "I'll tell you how. He was wearing a bullet-proof vest as a precaution and you were shooting blanks."

"What? How could Farley know I was going to shoot him? I don't think Leon would've loaded blanks in the revolver he gave me."

"Farley knew because Grace told me everything you told her! She was courageous enough to co-operate fully during this whole operation."

"The Devil! What about the blanks?"

"That was the tricky bit. I managed to access your hotel room when you were out. It was no problem to get into one of your cases where you kept the revolver. I merely replaced the rounds Leon provided with dummies made up to look like the hollow-points you explained Leon was going to load for you. The sticky bit was that even though you knew it was .38 calibre Smith and Wesson, you didn't say if it was .38 Special ammunition or not. So, the lab made up six rounds of each. The blanks did Mr Farley no harm at all."

"You mean the Glasgow police just pretended to investigate a murder. That must be why I got away with it."

"Yes. The police also announced his death over the police communication system and to the media. That's how Leon's contacts in Glasgow thought he was dead and so he kept his bargain with you."

"Michael, you're not a murderer," Grace emphasized as she grasped his hand in hers.

"Thank God. I'm not a murderer! Fred, I can't tell you how grateful I am for what you've done."

"It wasn't just me. Thank Grace. Without her feeding us the information you gave her every time you phoned, we couldn't have done anything."

"You kept me completely in the dark on this! " Michael said looking at his wife.

Fred continued, "I'm just glad you told her every plan you made, when you were going to do it and everything. Without all this information we couldn't have risked Farley as bait."

By this time their food arrived. Each began to tuck in to their sandwich. Michael and Grace purposely ate slowly and took small mouthfuls for the sake of Fred. The food tasted ever so wonderful, now that they knew it was going to benefit them. Whether they imagined it or not, they felt some strength returning to their bodies even after the first few bites.

"And you planned this 'sting' operation to try to arrest Leon?" Michael inquired.

"Again, without Grace relaying what you told her, we couldn't have done it."

"How did you know Leon had reversed the process on both of us?"

"In your excited state, you mustn't have noticed Grace give us the pre-arranged signal. Once, we got that and you were both safe, it was full pursuit."

Michael took another bite of his sandwich, still astonished at what he was hearing. As if he'd just set a trend, the others also refrained from speaking and resumed eating. As he chewed the lovely sandwich, things began to fall in place. He began to see how it all came about. He began to understand the mechanics of how this conspiracy between his wife, brother-in-law and the police had apparently saved the lives of his wife and him. He felt obliged to mention something.

"You know, this Leon. There was much more to him than you might think."

"What do you mean, Mike?"

Michael described his encounter with Angela- a censored version because of Grace. However, he included the strange absence of fingerprints on her glass.

"These people are not normal. They seem unworldly."

Fred replied, "I wouldn't go that far. You're not a trained policeman. You might've missed the fingerprints. However, they must be privy to some amazing technology. I do hope there's enough of Leon left to identify. Perhaps, if we captured him alive, he could've been persuaded to give us some very useful information about the organization he was a part of. "

"Perhaps," Michael said as he failed to hide the apprehension he felt.

Seeing the troubled look on Michael's face, he said, "In fact, I'll phone for an update on the state of our friend Leon's body just now."

He took out his mobile and thumbed in a few numbers. He asked for a report on the victim of the car that had crashed after the police chase. As he listened to the report, his brows knit disbelief, and then opened wide in amazement.

"But how can that be? There must've been something." Michael and Grace heard him say.

He listened for a few more moments to the report, and then signed off. He put his mobile back in his coat pocket. He scratched his lower jawbone with his thumb, as he regarded the Jansen's, a look of puzzlement on his face.

Grace piped, "What's wrong, Fred."

DCI Plummer paused in answering. He took a deep breath, and then said, "As hard to believe as it seems, the fire brigade doused the flames. The paramedics went in to remove the body-but it wasn't there! There was no sign of any remains!"

Grace went white. Michael mouth worked but no sound emanated from his lips. He reached for his wife's hand and clutched it to him. They were both speechless.

"The only explanation is that Leon must've leaped out of the car at the last second before the car crashed into the building. He then escaped down a small alley undetected. He must've planned the whole thing."

There was silence for a few moments as the three of them digested not only the strange news they'd just heard but also the stranger explanation.

"That's hard to believe! He'd have had only a few seconds after he turned into the cul-de-sac before the lead chase car would've also turned into that street. They'd have seen him jumping out. They'd have seen him running down the alley."

Fred paused with his answer. "Don't forget that it was dark. If he'd have jumped before they saw him, he could've made it into the alley. They would have assumed he was still in the car. He could have done it."

Michael replied, "What kind of man can leap out of a speeding car a split second before it crashes and then is in good enough shape to escape down an alley?"

"Granted, it does sound implausible. Leon might've been a highly trained operative capable of doing things that seem impossible."

"Yes, that's possible but.... "Michael replied as his voice gave way.

Grace' gaze went from her husband to her brother. "Now, what do we do? If he's still out there."

Fred reassured his sister, "They told me that increased patrols were activated to comb the immediate area of the crash once they found no body in the burning car. He may, even now, be picked up. He might've hurt a leg when he jumped. They also are alerting the casualty departments of all the hospitals in the city to report treating anyone matching the description you gave us. Don't worry."

Grace continued, "But what if he tries to contact us?"

Fred regarded his sister for a moment before replying, "Perhaps it's best for both of you to spend at least a couple of days in hospital. That way, not only can you get medical care but we can also keep a close eye on you."

Michael broke in, "I don't think we need to go to hospital. After eating this sandwich, I can feel strength coming back. My body is metabolizing nutrients. Grace, do you feel it?"

Grace looked down at her empty plate, nodding, "Yes, it's like it used to be. I feel energy I haven't felt since it all started. I don't think we need a hospital. I think Leon reversed the starvation. But I'm afraid to go home or even stay at Lyndsey's, at least for tonight."

"Okay, you two can have my bed. I'll take the couch. How's that sound?"

Grace smiled for the first time. "That sounds great. Michael?"

"Of course."

We'll go back to Lyndsey's and tell them you're going to stay with me for a few days, collect some of Grace's things after we go to the house for Mike's. We'd best not tell them any more than they need to know, right now. Don't want to cause them to worry."

"Right," said Michael.

"Are you sure you feel all right after eating those sandwiches?" asked Fred.

"I feel good. Fine," Grace remarked.

"Much better, thanks. Let's go," Michael added.

Fred started to take up the bill, but Michael grabbed it first, smiling, "I think it's finally my turn to buy you a meal"

"No problem,"

Michael rose slowly from his chair. Although still quite weak, he noticed a little less feeling of weight he had to overcome. It was as if instead of two sandbags slung across his back, he now only had one.

Grace also seemed to rise with a bit less trouble than before. As they headed toward the till, she asked, "Who was Leon, then? And where is he?"

Both men were glad the cashier engaged them at that precise moment as neither had any satisfactory answer to her question.

THE END

# AUTHOR'S MESSAGE

I hope you enjoyed that story.

I've got others soon to be published on Smashwords. A novelette called'Time and Time Again'.- about a couple marooned forty-odd years in the past. Think 'Robinson Crusoe' meets 'X-Files'.

And for you baseball fans,-especially you SABRy types-a novel length deadball decade nostalgic fantasy-'Deadball Drama'.

I hope you will try these as soon as they ready for publication.

Steve

