Magestic

Part 1

= &nb= sp;

www.geoffwolak-writing.com

2035

Looking back, I sometimes think of = when I changed, but I guess it was a long and gradual process.

&nb= sp; As a young boy, I was afraid to go beyond the end of my street in Richmond, London; I’d often make it as far as the big red post box, and no furt= her. I fondly remember long hot summers playing in the local park, and I remembe= r the first time that I camped out with the local Boy Scouts; for the first time I was away from my parents. I stayed up late, I woke early, and I watched the dawn rise for the first time, over a still and silent forest.

&nb= sp; As a teenager I discovered London, and I tried my first beer and my first ciga= rette. I didn’t take up smoking, thankfully, but I did like the odd sneaky b= eer now and then during my school exams. In college, London shrank to the point where we knew the good places to go, and the suburbs were just where people lived.

&nb= sp; My first job out of college was at a city stockbroking firm, starting at the bottom, and I spent my days trying to persuade people with money to buy sha= res in companies that neither I nor they had ever heard off, and I would practi= se lying convincingly. Then everything changed.

&nb= sp; Looking back, I was in awe of London as a kid, afraid of the end of the street and = the great beyond, and I stared hard out of the family car when we drove across London, wide-eyed with excitement; all those buildings, all those people. The world really was a big place back then. When was it that the world shrank? When w= as it that I started to ignore US Presidents when the phone rang, and started planning invasions, wars, or speeches to deliver to the masses?<= /span>

&nb= sp; Somewhere along the line, a line of some forty years, I changed, and calls from the various world leaders were sometimes ignored. My mentor had once quoted something to me, and not even he remembered where he had first heard it.

&nb= sp; ‘A young man cares for his family, an o= ld man cares for his tribe, but a great man cares for those he has not yet met= .’

&nb= sp; It may have been picked up on his travels through Africa, a long time ago. A v= ery long time ago. As a young man, I looked at the world through nervous and excited eyes, and by time I started my own family I was already worrying ab= out world politics, wars, pandemics, and the future of mankind.

&nb= sp; Sometime later I was point-man for the entire plant, and I was worrying about those I had not yet met.

No 10. Downing Street, London. Summ= er, 1985.

The Prime Minister ran a quick eye = over a letter, initialling the corner before handing it back to the waiting messen= ger.

&nb= sp; Thirty minutes later a buff coloured file was being keenly opened by Jack Donohue = at the Ministry of Defence. The letter, a tip-off about an upcoming IRA terror attack, now had the addition of TOP SECRET stamped onto it in blood red ink= . He touched the edges of the letter reverently and squared it off to the file; neatness was next to Godliness for Jack. He curled a lip at the fingerprint dust still adhering to the paper, pursed his lips and blew delicately.=

&nb= sp; Jack read the brief letter over and over, trying hard to read between the lines. He attempted to judge the tone and the style of writing, trying desperately to glean some intelligence about the sender – his assigned task. Magestic with a ‘g’, whoever = the individual was, had already caused him some sleepless nights. If only the letter had been signed “Majestic”.

Majestic had been the = CIA campaign of misinformation about UFOs in the 1960s; a pet hobby of JackR= 17;s. But why spell the word with a ‘g’? Was the writer simply a bad speller? No, the writing style had been exhaustively analysed by various linguists and experts. The writer was deemed to be well educated and cultur= ed. So, it was a deliberate spelling mistake. ‘Magestic’ was a noun= , a few references around the world, but none that seemed to be of significance= or relevance.

&nb= sp; This new letter, typed like the rest, had been numbered by the sender in handwri= ting as ‘12’ and detailed an elaborate IRA attack, so much detail th= at some in the government were certain that Magestic was in the community of spies, possibly a high ranking member of the IRA itself. Jack knew that= to be nonsense, because lying next to him was a file of the first eleven lette= rs, many detailing future natural disasters. Being an intelligence researcher, = Jack knew the limitations of field agents and double agents, and predicting the = next winner of the Eurovision Song Contest was not amongst the attributes of any= spy he ever knew of. No, this was something quite, quite different.<= /span>

&nb= sp; The fact that the Magestic letters had been assigned to him was a great honour = for Jack, his career not quite working out as anticipated in his youth. Thirty-eight years old, if he was going to do anything noteworthy, he figur= ed, he would have done so by now. Civil Service retirement at fifty-five loomed= as the only light at the end of the long dark tunnel as he sat in= his basement office, longing for a window.

He smiled when considering why they had assigned him this task; a degree in psychology. Actually, it was a 2.1, not so clever. But still, here he sat, grinning smu= gly at his assigned task, a task that his superior resented Jack handling. His = boss always read the letters first, just to make a point, but never gleaned anyt= hing of use outside of the obvious facts detailed. Like the other so-called ‘experts’, Jack considered, his boss was stuck in the detail, n= ot the topics or in the style. Now, he considered again the detail of this lat= est message as he worked alone in his office, muttering to himself. ‘Play= ful, confident, sarcastic almost … yet important, direct, necessary.’ He made notes, comparing them to a previously prepared summary.

&nb= sp; ‘Terrorists actions … but only related to us, to the UK, not to any other country. Posted in the UK, in London, various central locations, plus Cardiff, Readi= ng and Swindon. Our friend uses the train a great deal, a commuter like myself. Hell, I may have even sat opposite him, and I’m sure by the tone that= it is a him. Mid to late forties, ex-military or similar I believe, and= a powerful clairvoyant.’ Easing back, his chair issued a creak of compl= aint as he tapped his top lip with his pen.

He tipped his head bac= k as far as it would go, stretching his neck muscles. ‘So why tip us off? Why = not … bet the races.’ He raised a pointed finger. ‘Maybe he does. Not= e: look for big, consistent winners at the races - stock markets maybe.

&nb= sp; ‘So far … three IRA attacks, one faulty ship – which sank unfortunately, one spy escaping the safe house a day early, a rail crash averted – but disputed, an aircraft with a faulty fuel line – gratefully found in time, Reagan’s win at the polls, an attempt on our Ambassador in Angola – averted, the Eurovision Song Contest winner – just to make a point, the Iran-Contra affair…’

&nb= sp; A thought surfaced, Jack’s features hardening quickly. He typed a hurri= ed note and sent it directly to the Cabinet Office by courier, a deliberate br= each of protocol.

The Prime Minister read the note, t= ook off her glasses and eased back in her chair, staring out of focus for sever= al seconds. ‘I want the intelligence chiefs. Tonight. Oh, and this offic= er … Donohue, fetch him as well.’

When the officers had assembled in Cabinet Office Briefing Room ‘A’, COBRA, the Prime Minister ste= pped purposefully in and sat quickly, placing down her handbag. Jack adjusted his tie, wondering just how annoyed his manager would be, yet not giving a damn. Deputy Director Sykes was in attendance for this meeting, and now eyed Jack suspiciously.

&nb= sp; Straight to the point, The Prime Minister said, ‘This gentleman –’= she motioned toward Jack. ‘- has come up with a … very significant point: what if our good friend Magestic is sending tip-offs to other nations?’ She waited as concerned looks swept around the assembled fa= ces. ‘Up to now we have assumed that this was just about us.’ <= /o:p>

Jack delicately raised= a finger.

‘Yes?’ the= P.M. curtly prompted.

&nb= sp; ‘I hope you don’t mind, but when I … er … got the idea I ran= g a good friend in the London CIA section, the researcher I’m supposed to co-operate with on the psychology of the Russian leadership -’

‘Yes, yes,’= ; the P.M. urged, beckoning Jack onward with her hand.

‘I figured that,= if they didn’t already know, then they wouldn’t register anything about= the name. I asked if he had heard the word Magestic…’

&nb= sp; ‘And?’ Sykes firmly nudged when Jack hesitated.

&nb= sp; ‘My contact went apoplectic at the mention of the word, demanded to know what I knew.’

&nb= sp; Numerous whispered conversations broke out, the P.M. staring hard at Jack. She cut through the chatter with, ‘You have short-cut … what could have been a lengthy process. Now they know that we’ve been getting letters. But, more importantly, we know that this is not just about us.’<= /o:p>

&nb= sp; Jack forced a breath. ‘Prime Minister, we know that Magestic is probably L= ondon based, or a commuter along the M4 motorway. So … so if the Americans = have had letters, they would, most likely, be posted to the US Ambassador here … in London.’

&nb= sp; ‘Are you suggesting … that we intercept the American AmbassadorR= 17;s mail?’

&nb= sp; Jack decided to be bold. ‘They can’t possibly know when the next let= ter will appear, so they won’t miss it if … it went missing.’=

&nb= sp; The P.M. stood, a nod toward Sykes before exiting quickly. A chorus of overlapp= ing whispers began. Jack tentatively raised a finger.

&nb= sp; ‘Donohue, you don’t need to raise a finger like a schoolboy wanting the toilet,’ Sykes suggested. ‘What is it?’=

&nb= sp; ‘Well … er … I firmly believe that our friend, well meaning that he i= s, may also be sending letters to others; Russians, Chinese…’=

&nb= sp; ‘Jesus,’ Sykes let out.

November 21^st, 2035, abo= ard the eco-submarine Warrior III, North East of Bermuda.

As I sat down at my cabin’s s= mall desk I knew exactly what I wanted to write, but my hand just hovered over t= he data pad. I finally touched the screen.

&nb= sp; ‘Ready to begin recording and transcribing’ came a pleasant, yet detached fe= male voice. It had obviously been thoughtfully designed by some youngster at Chinchen-Microsoft to be non-patronising, and was the same voice as that on= my PCD. If she was real, I hoped she was on a commission; a penny a device wou= ld have made her billions!

&nb= sp; ‘PCD’ I repeated in my mind: Personal Communications Device. When I was lad a computer was called a computer, then they became desktop computers – = fair enough, then personal computers, PCs – or was it the other way around. Then everyone had a laptop to carry around. Soon mobile phones started to do what computers did and so they became Personal Communication Devices – shortened eventually to PCs, and it all got confusing. Your laptop worked l= ike a phone and your phone worked like a computer, only smaller. And me, I often longed for the first IBM PC’s keyboard, ivory keys that ‘clunked’ heavily when you hit them, so much better than touch = screens with intuitive algorithms; the number of spreadsheets I accidentally sent my mum from forty thousand feet over the Atlantic!

When I first started w= ork in the city of London, mobile phones were still called phones and were the siz= e of a house brick, a thousand pounds to buy; only city brokers with pink shirts= and briefcases lugged them around. Then they got smaller, soon everyone and the= ir kids got one, then there were suddenly more mobile phones on the planet than people, and poor Africans tried to fix them, or melt them down or something= ; I remembered images of poor black kids sitting on a mountain of old phones, trying to make enough money to cover their next meal.

&nb= sp; When was that, I considered, thinking back over the years; probably around 2013, before the troubles began. And talk about city traders, I was one for a who= le six months before starting to work for Jimmy Silo. It was how we met. Actua= lly, it was how he recruited me, and not for the first time. He came looking for= me.

&= nbsp; I took a breath, a quick glance at the wall and at the photographs of my kids= and ex-wife. ‘Kids’, I repeated in my mind, they were now parents themselves. But they would always be kids to me. ‘My name … my = name is Paul Holton … and this is my account of my life with Jimmy Silovic= h; time traveller, womaniser, philanthropist, reluctant politician ... and my friend.’

&nb= sp; I caught my own image in the desk mirror; seventy years old, going on twenty-five. At least I appeared twenty-five on the surface, thanks to the genetically-modified stem cells floating about in my blood, hunting earnest= ly for something to repair and rejuvenate. I could pass for twenty-five, but t= hese days so could many people if they had the money. My mop of black curly hair= was still there, and still a mop. As a teenager I had tried to tame it, around = the time I had tried in earnest to stop my mum from buying me shirts with wide collars, and cuffs that took ages to iron. The taming hadn’t worked, neither the hair nor my mum. No matter what I tried, my hair had its own id= eas. It was cut every six weeks, and we agreed to ignore each other and do our o= wn thing. In its favour it never needed combing, and looked exactly the same a= fter a futile attempt at male grooming.

&nb= sp; Sometimes these days my eyes appeared tired, and I could imagine how I might actually appear at seventy: grey hair, or no hair, wrinkles and sun spots, opaque sk= in and errant strands of hair trying to escape from my nostrils and eardrums. = But, thanks to my mentor, I - and everyone else on the planet - had the chance of eternal youth, a subject of much debate amongst many groups, some of whom wanted me dead.

&nb= sp; I began.

1986, London. My ‘digs’= in Richmond.

The new guy was shaping up nicely. = Six foot four, built like Darth Vader’s big brother and smart with it, we were getting on well. He did the dishes, cleaned the house, bought way too = much food and drink for just his own consumption, and he nearly always picked up= a take-away on the way home, from the Chinese next to Richmond tube station. = Me, and Dave the other lodger, were getting fat and lazy after just two weeks. = With England playing in the World Cup, and tonight’s match against Argenti= na of all countries, we were well geared up; Chinese takeaway, cans of lager, = ice cream slowly defrosting and some popcorn for later. Dave and I were as snug= as we could get. All we needed was a pair of lap-dancers for half time and life would have been perfect.

&nb= sp; Jimmy had joined McKinleys Stock Brokers a few months ago and had noticed my adve= rt for a lodger. Rents were high in London, especially in posh Richmond, and I= had taken the lease on a whole damn house just to be near my parents. Four stre= ets distant, it was far enough away to be independent. Just. I was twenty-three, and the hormones were raging. All I needed was some money, and not to be so damn tired on the weekends that I just slept. Somewhere out there was the b= ig wide world and the bright lights, yet to be discovered.

&nb= sp; Getting out on a Saturday night and going large was proving to be a more difficult task than I had anticipated when I had moved out from my patents. Money was tight, better now with the last room occupied, and the working day was killing me; I was running on chocolate and coffee. Didn’t know how Jimmy did it, he hardly slept and was always wide-awake, polite and pleasan= t. I suspected cocaine, since many of the lads in the office were using it, especially on a Saturday night. We were up at 6am, on the tube at 6.30am, t= wo changes, into the office for 7.45am, pink Financial Times under arms and looking quite the part in our smart suits. We hadn’t yet opted for pi= nk shirts, and I definitely couldn’t afford a mobile phone. Still, we we= re 1980’s city traders, sons of Margaret Thatcher’s revolution, an= d “yuppies” in the making.

&nb= sp; The football match had proved boring so far; a few chances, a few nudges and ha= rd tackles, plenty of shouting at the TV. At least the food had been good, and= the beers were going down nicely. Holding my aching stomach, I remembered the threat we had made to go around the corner and show the local girls how to dance. This was why I was single: getting home at 7.30pm and knackered, stuffing my face and falling asleep till bedtime. I was twenty-three going = on sixty!

With ten minutes of th= e match left to go, Jimmy said, ‘You know what I reckon will happen.’ He stated it in a voice that made him sound much older than myself, even thoug= h we were both the same age. ‘I reckon … that Maradona will punch= the ball over Shilton’s head, winning the match one nil.’<= /o:p>

&nb= sp; ‘What?’ Dave said with a heavy frown. He shot me a look. ‘If he hand-balls it= , it won’t be a goal, will it?’ He looked embarrassed for Jimmy, who= we had already figured was not a football fan.

&nb= sp; ‘They’ll allow it,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘Ten quid on it.’<= /span>

&nb= sp; ‘Twenty quid on it,’ Dave countered, easing up from his slumber and flicking noodles off his smart work trousers.

&nb= sp; ‘Make it a round hundred,’ Jimmy confidently suggested.

&nb= sp; ‘A hundred?’ Dave repeated, another glance toward me. ‘That Marado= na … will hand-ball in the winning goal? You’re on, sucker.’=

&nb= sp; Jimmy opened more cans and politely offered them around as we waited. A few minut= es later Dave and I were on our feet, our jaws touching the floor. And I should have known then that there was something very odd about the big guy. Dave couldn’t speak for a whole minute. He rang his mates to check that the match really was live and not recorded. He even rang the BBC as Jimmy insis= ted that he didn’t want the money. And that was the start of it. My lodger could predict the future with pinpoint accuracy, a handy trait for a budding stockbroker.

The second clue came t= hat Friday night, when I actually felt like I had the energy for a few beers in= the pub around the corner. In those days they were smoke filled, no laws against smoking in public places yet. And if there was a pretty girl present then s= he most definitely was a smoker. Still, in those days the birds were British at least, we weren’t knee deep in East Europeans yet. With no seats free= we stood at the end of the bar, me and Dave picking Jimmy’s brain on politics, which he seemed to know way too much about; he had an opinion on everything. And I mean everything. In our work suits we soon caught = the attention of two nice girls, smokers of course, and Jimmy bought everyone several rounds. Oddly, he had deep pockets, just one more mystery about mis= ter mystery guy.

&nb= sp; ‘That’s my ex-boyfriend and his mates,’ the first girl whispered at some poin= t, a nod towards the other end of the bar.

&nb= sp; ‘Not to worry, and not a problem,’ Jimmy quietly and confidently assured h= er, not even bothering to scan the would-be troublemakers.

&nb= sp; I, on the other hand, was worried = and glanced their way, a bit too obvious. Now the former Romeo knew we were discussing him, maybe even the size of his dick. Judging by the size of the rest of him - it could well have been a whopper. We were in trouble. Dave w= as no fighter, and I preferred the run very fast approach to these thin= gs.

&nb= sp; ‘I think your ex is still interested,’ I suggested to the girl.

&nb= sp; ‘He’s such a wanker,’ she came back with, shaking her head. ‘Watch out for flying bottles.’

&nb= sp; ‘Shall we … eh … go somewhere else?’ I suggested. ‘Curry maybe?’ That was a bad idea, I just remembered, since I couldn’t have even stuffed a packet of crisps into my bursting abdomen.

&nb= sp; ‘Sounds good,’ Jimmy enthused, a budding world champion at face stuffing; fel= la had the size to squeeze it into. Outside, in the cool night air and smoke f= ree environment, Jimmy said, ‘Start walking, I’ll be a step or two behind you.’

&nb= sp; With curious frowns, the four of us plodded slowly towards the local curry house, Jimmy trailing behind. We could not have made ten paces before a shout caus= ed the girls to snap their heads around; ‘wanker’ was on our trail. Jimmy waved us on as he turned to face six angry men. We took a step, before what was left of our chivalry caused us to stop and turn, and to wait.=

&nb= sp; ‘You six gentlemen must be the local mutual masturbating society,’ Jimmy offered them. I turned my head to Dave. As far as tactics for diffusing situations like this went, it was a first for me. Dave and I exchanged worr= ied looks.

&nb= sp; Neither of us had seen someone move like that. To kick a man across the bonnet of a car, another through a plate glass window. In the time it took me to take t= hree small steps, there were six unconscious men sprawled on the pavement and ro= ad. And Jimmy, he stepped casually towards us combing his hair.

&nb= sp; ‘So … curry?’ he said as he joined us.

Stunned, we fell into = step with him and plodded on, numerous glances back. The second girl was most impressed, and linked arms with Jimmy, a come-on smile spread across her fa= ce. It was clue number two, number three if you included his very deep pockets.= We rounded the corner, and ducked into a curry house just as flashing blue lig= hts flickered by. The waiter offered us a table by the window, but Jimmy - ever= the tactical thinker - chose one at the rear, me and him sat with our backs to = the wall in an alcove. If the local coppers had looked in they would have seen = the girls and Dave, probably not clocking us. I was getting suspicious of Jimmy, pleasantly suspicious. Was he a junior trader like me, or a secret agent of some sort?

&nb= sp; Jimmy faced me. ‘Why don’t you guys just have some drinks, soft drink= s, sober up a bit so that after this we can hit Stringfellows. I know the head doorman, get us all in.’

&nb= sp; It was a plan I liked the sound of. Jimmy stuffed down a curry with the girls,= God knows how he had the room for it, as me and Dave sipped shandys. And the odd thing about the big fella - he let me and Dave take the lead with the ladie= s, always managing to put himself down and play us up. He was helping me out l= ike the big brother I never had.

&nb= sp; At Stringfellows we found a monster of a winding queue, and it had just starte= d to rain, but we walked right past everyone. I noticed Jimmy fold a note into h= is palm before he shook hands with a doorman, who seemed to recognise him. The note changed hands with practised ease and I was back to thinking about sec= ret agents again, as well as how little money I had on me, since drinks in here= had to be pricey. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than Jimmy gave me = four tens without the girls noticing. Back then forty quid was a lot, especially= for a night out.

&nb= sp; ‘Pay me back when you can,’ he whispered as we headed towards the VIP area= . He stopped at the bouncer policing the VIP area entrance, another handshake and some whispered words in an ear. We were in, and rubbing shoulders with foot= ball players and TV stars. I rubbed my hands with glee.

&nb= sp; Little more than an hour later and Dave was done, well done and wobbling. Someone = had given him a half-drunk bottle of champagne, mistakenly believing him to have just won some international award, and he had finished it off. Jimmy grabbe= d a bouncer and gave him some notes, telling him to stuff Dave in a taxi - whil= st placing our address in Dave’s lapel pocket. Smooth, real smooth.=

&nb= sp; Suddenly, Jimmy and the girls seemed to be getting ready to go somewhere else, a worry for me because I was struggling as it was. ‘I’ve got the use of= a friend’s penthouse flat, not far,’ Jimmy told me. ‘C’mon, let’s get you some fresh air.’

&nb= sp; We took a taxi around to Belgravia, pulling up in front of a very posh set of marble pillars, a doorman coming out to greet us, a strange fella in a long green coat and green top hat.

&nb= sp; ‘Evening, Jimmy,’ the man offered, holding open a set of glass doors.

&nb= sp; Jimmy slipped the man a note without the girls noticing as we stepped inside, the girl’s heels clattering on the marble. We took a gold coloured lift u= p to the tenth floor and opened to a corridor with just the one door, which I fo= und puzzling in my drunken state. Jimmy turned a key in the door and we stepped inside, = the heating already on, a champagne bottle in an ice bucket on a coffee table. =

With a frown, I touche= d the bottle. ‘Is he in … your mate?’

‘No, away working,’ Jimmy replied, slipping off his jacket. ‘We can crash here, and then go home in the morning on the tube.’=

As I stood there I was= waiting for the girls to object, or to run off. I avoided eye contact with them and= I waited; no objections came, no running off. Oh bloody hell - did I have cle= an underwear on?

Jimmy opened a door, a= nd said, ‘Your room. Try the balcony, get some cool air.’

I stepped in and glanc= ed around, almost fainting; it looked like the inside of Buckingham Palace, ma= king me terrified to touch anything. Stepping across the vast room, I noted the en-suite bathroom before opening a glass door onto a balcony. Breathing the cool air, I tried desperately to sober up, finally turning around and closi= ng the door to find Sophie, the girl I had spent most of the time chatting wit= h, bouncing on the side of the bed. Something started to get hard.<= /span>

‘Very posh,̵= 7; she joked, kicking off her shoes with scant regard for whatever they impacted w= ith.

‘Er ... drink?&#= 8217; I asked, taking off my jacket.

‘Champagne,̵= 7; she said with that look in her eye. Actually, I had very little experience of t= hat look up to that point, but I figured it out all by myself. Back in the loun= ge, I found Jimmy sat alone, sipping the cooling champagne.

‘So?’ he a= sked. ‘All … OK?’

‘It’s like frigging Buckingham Palace,’ I said as I eased down opposite, two champagne flutes already full and fizzing. ‘What does your mate do?’

‘Trader, like us= . Older and richer.’

‘Where’s y= our bird?’ I whispered.

‘Shower,’ = he mouthed.

‘Have you got any –’

‘Bedside cabinet= ,’ he said with a grin. Easing forwards, he softly said, ‘Let me be so b= old … as to offer some advice.’ I was all ears. ‘Shower toget= her, do the business, robe on, back out here, cool off, coffee, do it again … then to sleep. Get up first, shower – smellys in there, coffe= e, make her a tea, do it again, give her money for cab home and get her number. Fix a provisional date for tomorrow … here.’<= /p>

‘Money –&#= 8217;

‘Beside cabinet.= Now, take the glasses and … have fun.’

I was terrified and exhilarated, but I had been given a plan. I was even tempted to stop and wr= ite it down in case I screwed it up. As it turned out she was great, not pushy,= and quite understanding of my drunken state. Coffee was waiting for me in the kitchen as she lay in bed and round two was better than round one.

In the morning, I foun= d Jimmy reading the papers. God knows where they had come from, since I hadn’t heard anyone go out.

‘Well?’ he= gently probed. I gave him a thumbs-up sign and a silly grin. He pointed at the sec= ond coffee mug. ‘I heard you moving. Milk ... and plenty of sugar.’= I sat. ‘Oh, if you need to take a dump then use that door there, separa= te small bathroom that she won’t be able to smell.’

God he was good. I too= k my coffee and made a horrendous smell, extractor fan turned on. After another shower, and a firm wake-up call for Sophie, we both got dressed, fin= ding Jimmy and his girl sat in robes.

‘Hungry?’ = he asked.

‘Starved,’= we both said.

Jimmy checked his watc= h. ‘Be some food brought up in … oh, about ten minutes or so. Grab yourselves a fresh tea, it’s all laid out in the kitchen.<= /span>

It was, and the damn k= itchen was as big as the bedroom. Ten minutes later a woman appeared with a trolle= y, leaving with only a smile and a nod; four English breakfasts and extra everything. We settled around the kitchen table and tucked in, Jimmy and me trying to explain derivatives trading to the girls, who were both secretari= es up the East End somewhere. After an hour of munching, we flopped on the sof= as around the coffee table and dozed, except Jimmy, who read the papers, circl= ing a few articles. The girls eventually had to head off and change, arranging = to meet back here at 8pm for dinner; Jimmy was taking us somewhere - and it wa= s a surprise.

With the girls gone, I= said, ‘I’d better get back and get some clothes.’

‘In the left-most wardrobe, have a look.’

I found shirts of all = sizes still in their packets, socks, pants, even trousers and shoes. Many were my size. ‘Won’t your mate be pissed?’ I asked as I re-entered the lounge.

‘No, he owes me = loads-a-money. Help yourself, I’ll settle it when I see him.’

I sat, my brain starti= ng to play catch up. ‘What do you do for McKinleys … exactly?&= #8217; Up to that point I had not even seen where he sat in the office.=

‘Private client investments and company trades.’

That put him about a m= illion grades above me. ‘At your age!’ I blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He smiled. ‘I= 217;m very good at what I do.’

‘So why are you = staying at my gaff, you must be on good money?’

‘Money’s O= K, but I tend to spend it quickly. I needed a room … and you’re a trader from the firm, someone who’s not going to go through my company paper= s at home.’

‘Oh, well …= ; yeah, naturally like.’

Jimmy checked his watc= h. ‘It’s 2pm already –’

‘Shit!’ I = said, checking mine.

‘So why don̵= 7;t you get some sleep, and be fresh for the ladies when they return.’

‘You think they = will, you know, come back?’

He smiled a knowing and confident smile. ‘I’d bet good money on it.’

‘Right, well, er= … I’ll crash out for a bit then.’ I headed for the door and stopp= ed. ‘Thanks … you know… for all this.’

‘Someday you can= help me out, when I need it. I’ll call Dave and see if he got home OK.’=

‘Ah … fuck ’im,’ I said, and got some sleep in a bed so big I couldn’= ;t touch both sides, still smelling Sophie on the pillows.

That weekend’s format was rep= eated three times before we took the girls down to the coast, Jimmy borrowing his mate’s posh Mercedes. Dave got transferred to an office in Leeds for = six months and so he moved out. It was just me and superman, and sometimes the girls, since they only lived a few streets away with their parents.

&nb= sp;    One long weekend, we drove the girls across to France, to a secluded chateau th= at Jimmy said he read about in The Times. And I was heavily in his debt, somet= hing that was starting to weigh on my mind. We took the girls on trips down to Bournemouth and to the Cotswolds, before Sophie had to move with her family= to Germany for a year. We said we’d stay in touch, but I never saw her again. By then I was cool and relaxed about the whole sex thing, and one of Jimmy’s numerous mates was teaching me to drive. I didn’t work on Jimmy’s floor, but I began to visit regular, often surprised = to find the senior managers in with him having coffee; everyone treated him li= ke he owned the damn place.

&nb= sp;    Six months in, and Jimmy said he was going it alone, going to trade some private client funds, and would I like to join him. There was the worry about making enough money to cover my salary and to live, but Jimmy showed me a trading statement that indicated he had millions of pounds of client money under his control. I took the chance, afraid to upset him, not least because he could always sniff out a beautiful woman whose mate would shag me.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained that the owner of the posh apartment had moved to Singapore for a= t least a year, and that he could now afford to rent it. A side room was converted = to an office, and it soon housed a multi-coloured live computer feed, stock pr= ices ticking over. The second bedroom was now my room and the side room our offi= ce; no more trains to work. Jimmy was paying me more than I had been on, no rent for the room, so my money was mounting up nicely. As was my debt to him, an= d my concern about it.

&nb= sp;    My old landlord took back the house, and I threw out a lot of stuff, buying new clothes. I had to look the part, and I even thought about a pink shirt and a mobile phone. I never did get a straight answer from Jimmy about Maradona’s handball, or a bunch of other things, but life was too goo= d to knock it. But something was always nagging at me, and for good reason.=

First day at school

Jimmy sat me down after we got the = IBM PCs set-up and running, a link to the stock exchange via a dedicated phone line.

&nb= sp;    ‘Right,’ he began. ‘Trading: lesson 1.01. Don’t trade when you’re bored. Don’t trade because you’ve just made a mint. Don’t trade when you’ve just lost your shirt. In essence … don’t trade unless you planned it. I make good money by holding out for the right trades. I may make no trade for the next six weeks, or fifty. It depends.

&nb= sp;    ‘If I have a feeling for which way the FTSE is going then I’ll rotate overlapping Index trades, never selling against my stock or reserves. If I = have such a feeling, as I do now, I’ll tell you what I think the FTSE may = do … and you can manage the small overlapping positions. That’s the trading part of what we do. There’s also investing, some of the stock tucked away for the long term; you’ll see them listed, so don’t= go selling them. I’m hanging onto Microsoft, Apple Computers, and Nokia = in Finland. When there are large market corrections on the downside I often pi= ck up more stock, sometimes off-loading first.’

&nb= sp;   I was following so far.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy continued, ‘So … at the moment I think Unilever will break out. Watch the FTSE and Unilever, wait for the index to stop falling and start to level out, then we buy about a hundred grand’s worth of shares, not options, and hold for around six to eight weeks. I’m expecting a thirty-five to forty-five percent return.’

&nb= sp;    I did the sums quickly in my head. It wasn’t hard. ‘Not bad for s= ix weeks.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘Read the FT, do your bits, I’m off to the gym for three hours.’ He stood.

&nb= sp;    ‘Any totty in this gym?’ I enquired.

&nb= sp;    ‘Some, yes. And no, you can’t come. I’ve got to have some time away fr= om you … employee.’

&nb= sp;    I read the papers, checked the charts, had several cups of tea and made myself scrambled eggs, and stood on the balcony a great deal. Soon I had a work from home routine going, long before it became trendy or financially expedient. But also long before internet porn and music downloads.

&nb= sp;    We hit the nightclubs Thursday through to Saturday, so we were not always in t= he apartment, and Jimmy disappeared for a few hours every day to the gym. But = the trading was worrying me. I was starting to believe there might be some insider-dealing going on here, but Jimmy firmly denied it when I nudged. St= ill, we were one hundred percent right in our trades, numerous accounts set-up w= ith half a dozen brokers so that money could be spread around. Jimmy said it wa= s in case one went bust, but he always said it with a grin. We had made our clie= nt fund two hundred thousand pounds in eight weeks, not including investments.= For the 1980s it was a shit load of money.

&nb= sp;    But it was not just the stock market that Jimmy was good at predicting. He also= had a bad habit of predicting world events with uncanny accuracy. Looking back,= I was being a bit thick, blinded by the money and the lifestyle. And the big = guy often joked about crystal balls and other mumbo-jumbo stuff, joking away re= asons to make trades - and anticipating what the news would bring. It was as if he wanted me to catch him out, to confront him. I was just being slow. A good salary, and a posh apartment and an endless supply of pretty girls will do = that to you.

One day I bumped into a senior trad= er from the old firm.

&nb= sp;    ‘Ah, Paul, how’s it going? You learning loads from the big guy?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said, since Jimmy had been teaching me a thing or two that I didn’t already know.

&nb= sp;    ‘Must be great to be a trader … and a fucking clairvoyant!’ the man joked.

&nb= sp;    As I walked off a bad penny finally dropped. I stopped in Oxford Circus and st= ood rigid for so long that a copper came up to me and asked me if I was OK. Back home, I found Jimmy sat reading the papers, something he spent an inordinate amount of time doing.

&nb= sp;    ‘Er … tea?’ I asked, trying to summon up some courage.

&nb= sp;    ‘Take a seat, Mr. Holton,’ Jimmy said without detracting from his study of = some obscure war in some obscure country that I had never heard of. As I eased d= own, he lowered his paper. ‘Something on your mind, young man?’ He waited. I didn’t know where to start. ‘Guess you’ve been wondering about … many things. Such as … my ability to predict = the future, and not just in stocks.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s a bit … you know … spooky.’

&nb= sp;    ‘But a good kind of spooky … because it makes me plenty of money, and allo= ws me to have nice apartments and cars and the money to … well, help you live the life you’ve become accustomed to.’
&nb= sp;    He hit the nail on the head, and made me feel very ungrateful for all he had d= one for me. ‘Well…’ was all I could get out; the last thing I wanted to do was to spoil our friendship.

&nb= sp;    ‘If you have a question … ask it, before we both get hungry just sitting here.’

&nb= sp;    I forced a breath. ‘How can you predict the future? Are you, you know –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Clairvoyant? No, not clairvoyant, but I can predict the future with great accuracy.’

&= nbsp;    My poor brain was puzzled. ‘Isn’t that … a clairvoyant?̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    He seemed amused. ‘A clairvoyant can see the future … if you belie= ve in all that crap. I can remember the future. Your future, my past.&#= 8217;

&nb= sp;    ‘My future … your past?’ I gave it some careful thought. ‘That would make you a … what, like a time traveller?’ I said in an off-the-cuff manner, a dismissive wave of the hand.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes,’ he answered with a smug grin.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes … to what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes … I’m a time traveller.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You’re a … time traveller. What, like Doctor Who on the TV?’ I scoffed= .

&nb= sp;    ‘Similar, I guess. But my TV sidekick doesn’t have large breasts.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Not from this planet, then?’ I joked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Technically … no,’ was not the answer I expected. He focused on me. ‘= Ever seen me sleep?’

I thought back, realis= ing that I hadn’t, that he was always awake; last to bed, first up. And if I g= ot up in the middle of the night he’d be reading, telling me he couldn’t sleep.

Oh shit.

&nb= sp;    ‘You’ve seen how strong I am,’ he added. ‘And yesterday you saw me burn= my hand.’ He held up his hand. ‘See any scars? Any red burns?̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    I was getting worried. He fetched a file and plonked it into my lap. It consi= sted of a series of letters, typed and signed, and all address to the Prime Mini= ster. I gulped. Each had been signed “Magestic, the man in the middle”.

&nb= sp;    ‘The … er … man in the middle?’ I queried.
&nb= sp;    ‘Someone in the middle … sits between opposing parties,’ he enigmatically explained.

&nb= sp;    I scanned the first letter. It was warning the Prime Minister about an IRA terrorist attack, and suddenly this was all way out of my league. The next letter itemised a train crash from a faulty signal, the third another terro= rist attack by the IRA - this time in great detail, and naming names. The fourth outlined the election victory of Ronald Reagan, and the capture of a British spy in Tehran. It got worse; predictions of things to come in years ahead, ferries sinking, aircraft crashing and being hijacked. I finally looked up.=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy casually asked, ‘If you had the ability to predict the future, what w= ould you do with such a skill? Trade the stock markets like me? Sure, got to make some money and oil the wheels. Bet the horse races, make a mint? Why not, y= ou can always give some money to charity. But would you not, also, warn people about things like … plane crashes? Terrorist attacks?’ He eased back and waited.

‘Well … ye= ah, of course I would,’ I firmly suggested.

&nb= sp;   ‘So you would use such an ability … for the benefit of mankind?= 217;

&nb= sp;    ‘Well … of course.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sounds laudable. And if you had this ability, and you were warning people a= nd saving lives, then you’d be … what … one of the good guys, yeah?’

&nb= sp;    My head nodded itself.

&nb= sp;    ‘And if you knew that … let’s say … your mum was due to get ca= ncer in twenty years time … then what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘My … my mum will get cancer?’ I was horrified.
&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded, looking solemn. ‘What would you do?’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Get her to the doctors before that time, for a check-up,’ I rushed to get out.

&nb= sp;    ‘Check-ups … reveal things, they don’t cure them.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘She … she’ll die at sixty-seven?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Not if we don’t let her.’

&nb= sp;    ‘What could you do?’ I asked, almost sounding angry with him. Calmer, I sai= d, ‘You … you’d help me pay for private medicine for her? Ea= rly treatment?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Something along those lines.’

&nb= sp;    This was now a different ball game, a very different ball game. When I had come = up in the lift I figured he was some sort of clairvoyant, and that he used his gift to trade the markets. I had completely missed the other uses of such foresight, such as plane crashes. I felt very guilty all of sudden. We simp= ly sat and stared for a moment.

&nb= sp;    Finally, Jimmy said, ‘Of course, if you expose me … I won’t get to carry on preventing plane crashes. And I certainly could not help your mum = and others.’ He opened two cans and poured me a lager, which I needed. ‘So’, he finally said. ‘You going to turn me in to the authorities?’

&nb= sp;    My mind was still on my mum, and plane crashes. ‘No, of course not.̵= 7; There was also the matter that he was the best friend I had ever had. In fa= ct, just about the only decent friend I had ever had.

&nb= sp;    ‘Why of course not? I could be a dangerous alien for all you know,’= he toyed.

&nb= sp;    ‘Are you … you know?’

&nb= sp;    He laughed. ‘No, I was born in Newport, South Wales. You’ll meet my parents soon enough.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Then how…?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Time travel,’ he carefully mouthed. ‘In simple terms: I lived to be sixty-four years old, went to Canada after World War Three destroyed the planet. –’ My eyes widened. ‘- Became Commissioner for British, European and Israeli Refugees, stepped into a time machine built by the United States Air Force, and came back here knowing what I know. My bod= y is full of genetically modified stem cells and other drugs, giving me greatly extended endurance and strength. I’m immune to all diseases known to = man - and a few they haven’t discovered yet. I heal quickly, I don’t sleep much, I eat a lot, but I can’t jump tall buildings in single bo= unds and I most certainly do not wear my pants outside my trousers.’= ;

&= nbsp;    ‘Wa … World War Three?’ I repeated, now wide-eyed and transfixed.

&nb= sp;    ‘Kicks off in about seventeen years time, give or take.’ He raised a finger. ‘Unless, of course…’

&nb= sp;    ‘You warn them. You stop it.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Tricky.’ He shook his head. ‘Would they listen? I’d need some … credibility, built up over twenty years or more.’
&nb= sp;    I lowered my head to the letters, suddenly realising where this was going.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy added, ‘Of course, it would be a difficult task all by myself.’=

&nb= sp;    I scanned him from under my eyebrows, finally switching my brain on. ‘Y= ou didn’t need a room, did you?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, I’m worth millions. And this place, dumb fuck, is mine - I bought it = for two hundred grand. You’d make a lousy secret agent.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Why come to me? I’m no James Bond.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You have a destiny.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I do?’ My expression made him laugh.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, you do. I’ll guide you, so all you need to do … is to think more about others than yourself for the next twenty or thirty years. Do y= ou think you could do that?’

&nb= sp;    I nodded, although I had no idea what I was nodding about. ‘What would happen –’

&= nbsp;    ‘If the authorities found out about me? We’d be locked up, tortured for information, dissected probably. So, you know, not a word to anyone. And I = mean … anyone. Your life … depends on it.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bloody hell,’ I let out before setting about my lager.

&nb= sp;    ‘If you accidentally tell your parents, or some lady you’re dating, you’ll put everyone you know in danger. In time, in the years ahead, I’ll be rich enough and powerful enough to stop any such action. But = for now we have to be careful.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So, your plan –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Is to make some money, build up contacts and friends, build up credibility with the tip-off letters and, when the time is right, go public.’

&nb= sp;    ‘What?’ I whispered.

&nb= sp;    ‘Years from now you’ll be very rich, and have your face all over the TV and papers, so start thinking like a celeb’ in the making. And now that y= ou know what you need to know … we’ll be off on our travels.’= ;

&nb= sp;    ‘Travels?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Starting with Kenya, then the States, Australia - everywhere. I need to educate you = in the ways of the world.’

&nb= sp;    It sounded good. But I foolishly asked, ‘What if the plane crashes?̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    ‘It won’t, dumb fuck –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Because you know which ones crash,’ I said, feeling silly. ‘So whatR= 17;s the weather going to be tomorrow?’

&nb= sp;    He laughed. ‘No idea, check the news weather. I only know what I need to know.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So how come you don’t look like … you know … a wrinkly old guy?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Stem cells, my lad. Everyone has stem cells, they’re what builds our bodies when we’re in the womb. After we reach about eighteen years the production of stems slows down; enough to keep us alive and to heal wounds,= but not enough to keep us looking youthful forever. I’ve been genetically modified so that I produce an excess of them, something that doctors will be able to do in around … oh … twenty-five years time. When I w= as an old guy, I was strapped to a bed and intravenously injected with stems f= or ten weeks, stems taken from the wombs and umbilical cords of ten ladies I m= ade pregnant for that very procedure. Because the stems were fifty-percent genetically my own they worked well.

&nb= sp;    ‘I was only given enough protein to survive, and so lost a hell of a lot of we= ight – appearing like the twenty-year-old me at thirteen stone. The genetically modified stems basically reverted me back to a full adult at the youngest age, around twenty, which was what I needed for my parents to acce= pt me as me.

‘That= particular story R= 30; is very secret, so we’ll discuss it at some point later. So is the exact mechanism of time travel – the people here can’t find out by accident. If you don’t know … then you can’t accidentally= disclose it. As for my appearance … ten or twenty years will pass and I’= ll age just a couple of years. Eventually I’ll grow old and die if I don’t get another injection … from doctors that are in nursery school as we speak.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bloody hell.’ I sipped my beer. ‘So … so what do I do… in = the future?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Mostly, you’re my assistant, helping me do what I need to do. There’s no one else I can trust with what you now know, and what you’re going to know.’ I felt honoured, then immediately concerned. He added, ‘= And if, and when, I’m killed … you take over.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Killed?’ I repeated.

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s always a possibility. Accidents … or getting shot by irate husbands.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And then what do I do?’

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ll tell you what the future holds and you … you fix what you can. But don’t worry, you’ve got ten or fifteen years before we get near= a situation where the CIA will want to shoot me.’

&nb= sp;    ‘CIA?’ I whispered.

&nb= sp;    ‘In the future, the Americans are going to want to invade a few countries, but I’m going to try and stop them.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bloody hell.’ I sipped my beer as he fetched a large box.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Reading material.’ He took out each book in turn and made a pile on the floor that grew to a height of three feet: history of the world, UK history, first aid, advanced first aid, Pre-Hospital Trauma Life Support, expedition first aid, mountain rescue, UK politics, The Global Economy, principles of flight, piloting helicopters…

&nb= sp;    ‘Helicopters?’ I queried.

&nb= sp;    ‘How else are you going to impress a bird … other than by flying her home = the next day in your own helicopter?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bloody hell.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Your language tutors will arrive in a few weeks.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I’m like Luke-frigging-Skywalker being trained to use The Force.’

&nb= sp;    He eased back. ‘You know, in years to come they’ll make three preq= uels to Star Wars.’

&nb= sp;    ‘What the fuck’s a prequel?’

&nb= sp;    He sipped his beer. With a deadly serious expression, he answered, ‘My life.’

After a reflective bee= r, I asked, ‘Well … what exactly do I do now?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Now you carry on trading the markets, you study, you travel … you get rea= dy for the future. I’ll give you some money so that you can trade your o= wn account - to make you eventually look rich on your own, so you appear to be= my business partner and not an employee.’

&nb= sp;    ‘R … rich?’ I repeated, making him smile.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes. By time we get to 2005 you’ll be one of the richest men in the UK.= 217;

&nb= sp;    Wide-eyed I said, ‘I will?’

&nb= sp;    ‘You will, I won’t.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Huh?’ came out without any help from me.

&nb= sp;    ‘I’m going to make a lot of money and give it all away. You, on the other hand, = will hang onto some so that we have a reserve.’

&nb= sp;    I suddenly considered that my future self was quite mean. ‘Don’t = I … give any money away?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Some, yes. Quite a lot in fact – compared to most; tens of millions. But I = need you to act as banker. If someone sues me we’ll have a fall-back position.’

&nb= sp;    I pointed at myself. ‘I … I’ll have more money than you?= 217;

&nb= sp;    ‘A great deal more; nice cars, helicopter, hordes of women chasing after you.&= #8217;

&nb= sp;    ‘So … so what’s the catch?’ I finally asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘When you have a lot of money – a lot of people try and take it off you. You can’t just pop down to the corner shop … because someone will c= laim that you punched them – even though you never did. Girls will claim y= ou attacked them, hoping to make some money from the story or from a settlemen= t. If you’re in a car and some idiot nudges you from behind they’ll tell the police you deliberately reversed into them and how bad their neck hurts and … could they please have a million quid.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘Little fuckers,’ I quietly let out.

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s no fun being a millionaire; you’ll have to watch your back. If someone asks you if you like your mum you’d say yes. Next day in the papers it would say you hate your mum.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Little bastards. All because you got a few quid?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained, ‘In the years ahead the tabloids will become more aggressi= ve than they are now; they’ll print anything, till some privacy laws sta= rt to take effect after 2009. So anything you say or do now – that people will remember – will make it to the papers in years to come. Probably= be an unauthorised biography about you as well.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Biography? About me?’ I challenged.

&nb= sp;    ‘Should think so.’

&nb= sp;    ‘How can they write it … you know … without my say so?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No law against it. If they say you hate your parents it’ll sell better.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So anything I do –’

&nb= sp;    ‘And anything you did,’ he emphasised.

&= nbsp;    ‘Shit. I lost my virginity to a middle-aged hooker up the West End for forty quid.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Who knows about it?’

&nb= sp;    I thought back. ‘I think I told a mate in school…’

&nb= sp;    ‘Then make sure you look him up, buy him dinner, stay on his good side.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I got arrested for nicking a cricket ball from a pavilion when I was sixteen.= ’

&nb= sp;    ‘Fine, tell them you were a rebellious teenager, no one will give a shit about stu= ff like that. It’s what you do in the next ten years that matters.’= ;

&nb= sp;    ‘What about all the one-night stands?’ I asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not a problem: man about town; money, cars, women. Papers love that sort of stuff.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I haven’t even made any money yet and I’m worrying about it!̵= 7; I complained.

&nb= sp;    ‘That, young man, we have in common.’

After two beers, I sai= d, ‘What’s the future like?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Which part?’

&nb= sp;    ‘I dunno … girls.’

&nb= sp;    ‘They shave off their pubes.’

&nb= sp;    ‘They … what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nearly all girls shave off their pubes, or have them cut into patterns – like butterflies. And tattoos, they all have lots of tattoos.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘Girls … have tattoos?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Just about all of them; up their arms, on their boobs, sides of the hands - it starts in the 1990s. Around 2020 you see old women with stupid tattoos misshapen by their ageing skin. Singers like Robbie Williams have lots of tattoos.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Who’s he?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Wait and see.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Christ. What’s music like?’

&nb= sp;    ‘In the 90s it’s good, but by time we get to 2009 there’s a lot of = Rap music in the charts.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Rap? Like what those black kids do in America? Here?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Top sellers.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You’re fucking kidding me!’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy shook his head. ‘But after 2010 there’re many covers, not much original stuff. Guess everything has been done. I’ll commission a cle= ver bit of software that’ll compare songs.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Software?’

&nb= sp;    ‘A computer program. And those mobile phones you see yuppies with, Motorolas, they’ll be small as a credit card.’

&nb= sp;    ‘What?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy lifted his eyebrows and nodded. ‘They end up as small as a playing ca= rd, and either touch screen or voice activated. You’ve seen Captain Kirk = use his communicator? Well … just like that.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Cool.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You can get a small device to put on your belt and wear around. It bleeps if you’re going to have a heart attack.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Strange … but cool.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Imagine this … walking down a street, you take out your phone – size of= a credit card - and say where am I? It tells you where you are, what direction you’re walking. You ask it where’s the nearest cur= ry house? And it tells you.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Fucking hell. They expensive?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, you get them free and pay a monthly charge of around fifteen quid.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Jesus,’ I let out.

&nb= sp;    ‘Everyone has one, kids as young as six. Everyone. If a parent wants to know where th= eir brat is they ask their phone and it tells them.’

‘Bloody hell.= 217;

‘Many cars go el= ectric around 2015, I have a hand in that. Some things are great, some crap.’= ;

I gave it all some car= eful thought. ‘What do you like the most … in the future?R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘Probably the Internet.’

&= nbsp;    ‘The what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Our computer is connected to the phone line, and in the future all computers are connected to central super-computers that hold information on everyt= hing. You can click a button and find out the news, the weather, everything. The = best bit is the social networking by computer: it’s a gossip shop on the computer screen. You type in something … and lots of people see it, t= ell their mates. So when the CIA are about to do something naughty you tell peo= ple down the computer wire and it goes all around the world in minutes, soon on= the news, so that the CIA can’t do what they want to.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Better than letters warning people,’ I suggested.

&nb= sp;    ‘Much,’ Jimmy carefully mouthed. ‘In the future, people watch the TV news = 211; about some idiot behaving like an idiot - go online and complain about it, = and an hour later the idiot stops doing what he’s doing; real demo= cracy in action.

‘But in the futu= re jobs are still crap, the tube is still crap, British Rail is still crap, plane flights are the same, cars are the same, houses are expensive as fuck ̵= 1; ten times the average salary, and night life goes to shit.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Whooa there, buddy. Nightlife does what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘They relax the licensing laws, so anyplace can stay open and put some music on, dance floor in a corner at the back. No more nightclubs, no one going out in suits after … say 1993. It’s all jeans and t-shirts.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Jeans and t-shirts … in a fucking nightclub?’ I was staggered.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded reluctantly. ‘It’s why we’ll open our own.’<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘I knew there was a reason I hired you,’ I said loudly. We laughed. ‘Our own nightclub. Yes!’ I broached the subject of Jimmy’= ;s fondness for the ladies. ‘If you’re, you know, so old – y= oung looking with the wonder drugs and all – then mentally, you know, you’re old –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes?’ Jimmy slowly let out, his brow pleated.

&nb= sp;    ‘Then … inside … you’re old, yet you still like the young ladie= s–’

&nb= sp;    ‘And … so?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Well, there’s … you know … quite an age gap,’ I delicately suggested.

&nb= sp;    ‘And you’re wondering why an old man would go for the young ladies instead= of … what … a fine fifty-year-old. How do you think I would look w= ith a fifty-year-old woman?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Well, a bit silly really.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Exactly, dopey.’ He sipped his beer and took a reflective moment. ‘When I got to Canada I was fifty, knackered and despondent – women were the = last thing on my mind. The conditions were harsh and I grew old quickly; you do = in those circumstances. When I became the Commissioner for European Refugees, = some five years later, I had some power … and better food and living condi= tions than most. After a year or so I entertained the odd young lady, paid for in food like the rest, but it was not a priority. It felt … not right. So much death and starvation, it just doesn’t do anything for your libid= o. At least it didn’t for me at the age I was at.

&nb= sp;    ‘The young men raped regularly, punished when they were caught – typically= a week in solitary. Others used prostitutes, although it was fair to say that= all women there would lift their skirts for extra rations; when you’re starving, all other considerations go out the window. People here don’= ;t understand that because they’ve never lived through it, but the Second World War generation would understand.

&nb= sp;    ‘There was one woman, a doctor under my command - Elizabeth her name was, who spen= t a great deal of time with me. I suppose you could say that she was a girlfrie= nd. But one day she went to an outlying region and never came back - that happe= ned a lot. And now … now I have to be very careful –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Why?’ I stupidly asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Why do you think, Dumbo?’

&nb= sp;    I shrugged. ‘So you don’t slip up and say who you really are?R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘And what else?’ he prompted.

&nb= sp;    ‘Er … you don’t like commitment?’ I toyed.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Never did when I was a mere mortal, stuck four years once. But what would happen = if I did marry someone?’

‘You’d = 230; need to find a big-fitting tuxedo?’

He smiled. ‘What= else? What would happen to the lady in twenty years time? And the kids?’

‘Ah, they’= d grow old,’ I realised. ‘Your kids would grow up and go down the pub = with you, looking more like brothers and sisters.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And don’t you think that might be a bit … odd?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I agreed. ‘You’re right. What you should do –= ; to make up for the heavy heartache of not being able to marry – is to sh= ag loads a pretty girls without commitment. Console yourself.’ We laughe= d, toasting each other with our drinks.

&nb= sp;    ‘The job’s not all bad,’ he said with a glint in his eye.=

We spoke till the smal= l hours, made some plans, and ordered-in a curry like normal. When I woke the next d= ay I was Dr. Who’s assistant, but without the large breasts. After a coffe= e by myself I went to see my mum, and gave her a big hug. She was so surprised s= he thought I’d made some girl pregnant or lost my job. It took a whole h= our to convince her that I just missed her, and even then she was suspicious.

2035

I put down the keyboard, letting ou= t a tired sigh. ‘Computer. Off.’

“Closing down= ”, came a pleasant voice, followed by a chime as I stretched out on my bunk. My back was aching from sitting hunched for so long and my eyes closed themsel= ves, fatigued with concentrating on the screen.

&nb= sp;    The door burst open, the patter of small feet followed by a heavy four year old landing on my stomach, air bursting from my lungs.

‘God, you’= re getting heavy,’ I whispered as my youngest granddaughter snuggled up. Reaching down, I put an arm around her, finding her well-worn teddy; they w= ere inseparable. Adult footsteps caused me to open an eye briefly, my youngest daughter stood with hands on hips, an expression of motherly disappointment= and exasperation. She stepped closer, reached over and pulled a blanket up, covering her disobedient offspring. I heard the door click shut a moment la= ter.

&nb= sp;    There would be gentle nagging in the morning about letting my granddaughter snugg= le up, again, but I didn’t care. I didn’t see that much of them, so they could snuggle up anytime they wanted. It took me back, back to when my= own daughters slept in the bed with me and my wife. My ex-wife.

&nb= sp;    As I lay there, I thought back to the day Jimmy revealed who he was, well R= 11; part revealed the story. It seemed like a million years ago, it seemed like yesterday. Now Jimmy was gone, missing for almost four years. The search had been extensive, large rewards offered. Some believed he had gone backwards = or forwards through time, even some of the politicians firmly believed that, b= ut I knew different, and I kept the secret. It was his wish, and I would honour = that wish. The need for some sleep robbed me of further thought on the matter.

1986. First name terms

Jack Donohue was worried, being sum= moned to No. 10 early one morning. He adjusted his tie as he entered through the rear, ushered quickly to the COBRA meeting. Everyone was staring at him, especially Deputy Director Sykes. Gingerly, Jack sat as directed. ‘Morning,’ he offered, just before the Prime Minister entered.<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    The P.M. sat and studied Jack for a moment. ‘First, the Americans have admitted, finally, that they also receive letters. Those letters, posted to their Ambassador here in London, are just about identical to those that we = receive. We could not say, at this juncture, that they get anything more than we do. They’ve received a few specific warnings of mishaps in The States. Question is, do the Russians and Chinese get letters?’

&nb= sp;    The head of MI5 answered, ‘We intercepted a letter to the Russian Ambassa= dor, but then sent it on its way the same day. It was a warning about a fire at a chemical plant.’ He pulled a face and shrugged.

&nb= sp;    ‘Then we received today’s letter,’ the Prime Minister announced, open= ing the file she had brought in. Paraphrasing, she read, ‘It was a good i= dea of Jack’s -’ Everyone focussed on Jack, the P.M. lowering her g= aze to the letter. ‘- about the other letters. Just for the record, the international community receives warnings of disasters where I feel my tip-= offs may do some good.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Keep your panties on, luv.’

&nb= sp;    She took a moment as people shifted uneasily in their seats. Continuing, she re= ad, ‘I am British, and you can be assured of my loyalty of purpose to sta= te and crown. Tell Jack that I do not<= /i> bet the races.’

&nb= sp;   Jack tried, and failed, not to smile.

&nb= sp;    The Prime Minister continued reading, ‘If you wish to send me a message, = use the personals in The Sun newspaper, messages to … Big Wobbly Bertha. = We will not meet for many years to come, nor should you disclose these letters, since it would most certainly be unseemly for the Prime Minister of our gre= at country to be seen to take seriously the advice of clairvoyants.=

&nb= sp;    ‘P.S. If the nice gentlemen –’ She glanced about the assembled men. ‘- intercept letters to foreign embassies I will know about it, and direct such letters by alternate means. Kindly remember who you are dealing with.

‘P.P.S. Jack will eventually figure out more about me. How about an office with a window for = the poor fella?’ She focused on Jack. ‘We carefully checked the signature, just in case it was you … who sent the letter.̵= 7; Faces creased. ‘Fortunately, it stops short of suggesting a pay rise = or promotion for you.’

That afternoon, Jack received a vis= it from his departmental manager, Wilson, a sour-faced man with little hair, little patience, and even less in the charm department. He scanned JackR= 17;s office without a word, then sat. ‘Despite your fondness for your new = pet pen pal, I don’t share your views that this guy is a benef= it to anyone.’

&nb= sp;    Jack’s brow creased. ‘Sorry?’

&nb= sp;    ‘He’s not just a clairvoyant, he’s a seer – someone capable of remote viewing.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Remote … viewing?’ Jack repeated, despite the fact that he had recently read a dozen books in the subject.

&nb= sp;    Wilson flicked dust off his knee. ‘The CIA experimented with it, probably st= ill do. They’re people who can see into the USSR at some missile base and draw a picture of the layout. Uncanny, some of the stuff they could do but, overall, very inconsistent. Every time the Yanks used them for real missions they screwed up.’ He jabbed an angry finger towards Jack. ‘And = so will your boy.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sir?’

&nb= sp;    ‘He’s dangerous. He should be behind bars, or in a psych’ ward where he belongs.’ Jack did not agree with that sentiment, but held his tongue. Wilson continued, ‘If he can see into this office, if he knows what we’re up to, he can also see into other areas. That kind of power can= not be left unchecked. So I want you to find him. Use the newspaper message sys= tem, arrange a meet, tell him you’re not well or something – since he seems to have an affinity for you. Just find him.’ He stood. ‘Or else!’

&nb= sp;    A knock at the door preceded two senior police officers stepping in. ‘Mr Wilson,’ the first stated. It was not a question.
&nb= sp;    Wilson was caught off guard. ‘Yes. Who the hell are you?’

&nb= sp;    ‘We … are the nice gentlemen who’d like to talk about the death of a young lady you were seeing in college, 1958.’

&nb= sp;    Wilson stood rigidly shocked.

&nb= sp;    ‘If you’ll come with us, please.’ They led him out, one officer remaining. Jack was on his feet, his mouth hanging open. =

The officer neared. &#= 8216;Mr Magestic said to say hello.’

&nb= sp;    ‘How … how do you know about him, it’s top secret?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ve been getting letters for years - our clean-up rate is through the roof.R= 17; He smiled and winked, letting himself out.

&nb= sp;    For ten minutes Jack stared at the door with a contended smirk. Despite Magestic’s suggestion, no new office had been forthcoming. Still, it = was time for a little celebration. He opened a side drawer and took out a packe= t of Bourbons biscuits. No, this was a special occasion. He replaced the packet = and retrieved a Kitkat.

Kenya

Our first trip was to Kenya a month later, landing at Nairobi airport. My first impression was … what a d= ump. And the heat was intense. The paint was cracking off the terminal walls, fa= ns on worn bearings competing to see which could emit the most annoying sound = - I guessed they were trying to attract mosquitoes, and the staff all stank. Un= like Jimmy, I was not in love with Kenya in particular, or Africa in general.

&nb= sp;    A local stood with a sign saying ‘Silo’ and directed us to a cab = that had seen better days, a Ford Cortina like my dad used to drive. The driver = put our luggage into the boot, eventually getting it to close, and we settled i= n, Jimmy telling the man which hotel we wanted in the man’s own regional dialect. To say the fella was surprised would be an understatement, and we = were tooted from behind to get a move on.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy tipped the puzzled driver well, thanking him again in his own tongue. At le= ast the hotel looked half decent. The staff, dressed in green waistcoats and fu= nny hats, took our luggage and directed us into an air-conditioned interior with lots of white folk milling around; I guessed that it was the local tourist trap. Jimmy signed us in, talking in French to the dark skinned local, who questioned our nationality when the passports were handed over. Jimmy offer= ed him a few words in another dialect, pleasing the man. The rooms were nice enough, good views of the city centre, but Jimmy nodded his head towards the door.

&nb= sp;    ‘Follow me,’ he enigmatically stated.

&nb= sp;    We took the lift up to the top floor, opening to a roof garden with a small po= ol and a good sized bar. We sat, Jimmy ordering drinks in some weird dialect. = He checked his watch, so I checked mine. 5.45pm.

&nb= sp;    ‘Sunset over Nairobi,’ Jimmy let out with a contented sigh. ‘It’s been … many years since I was here last.’

&= nbsp;    With cool beers in hand, we sat on sun beds by the pool, several nice ladies swimming lengths and clocking us, the sun going down to the west, the way we were facing. Fair enough, it was very pleasant, and two French ladies joined us, doctors with some agency linked to the Red Cross. Despite Jimmy’s strange knowledge of local dialects, his French was limited, the two lady doctors conversing in near perfect English.

&nb= sp;    I was lost after ten minutes, Jimmy amazing them by knowing more about their mission in Africa than they did. He even told them when their project would end, something they had not yet been informed of. Hairy armpits aside, four hours of slow drinking resulted in Michelle dragging me to my room, thinkin= g I was twenty-nine. Kenya was growing on me.

&nb= sp;

The next day we were up early, kick= ing out our guests and telling them we would be back in a week. We hadn’t even unpacked. We hired a taxi, making the driver very happy by booking him= for three full days, expecting him to stay overnight with us. Jimmy negotiated a rate equal to a month’s pay for the fella, about a hundred pounds, wi= th petrol on top. Off we set to some place with a long name. After two hours, I was back to my original thought: what a dump. I made allowances because it = was Africa, but God was it dusty and dirty, the roadsides littered with tatty shacks and naked kids.

&nb= sp;    We eventually left civilisation behind and hit the countryside proper, stoppin= g to let a lion run across our path. An hour later and we arrived at the place w= ith the long name, a small lodge of sorts that looked like cluster of Canadian = log cabins, albeit dusty and dirty. Jimmy booked us in, speaking in German to t= he German owner - a room for the taxi driver arranged, then tipped his head fo= r me to follow. On the veranda of a well-stocked bar we sat, cold beers placed d= own, and looked out across pure African countryside; a gentle slope down to a wi= nding river, all sorts of animals milling about, forest in the distance and hills beyond, the sun setting. Whoever had positioned the bar had done so deliberately.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy pointed. Following his finger, I could see my first herd of Elephants, loll= ing about at the river’s edge. After saying something in German, a man brought Jimmy two pairs of binoculars and we peered through.

&nb= sp;    ‘David Attenborough, eat your bleeding heart out,’ I said.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Met him many times,’ Jimmy idly commented. ‘Great man.’<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    And for the next four hours we sat there. Sundown, sunset, afterglow and pitch black, roars of unseen animals echoing through the dark. Not to mention the million flying insects buzzing about the bar’s lights.

&nb= sp;    The next morning we ate an acceptable breakfast in a communal hall, a few German guests present, before hiring a private guide and two wardens to take us on= a jeep trek. A dated and uncomfortable green Land Rover bounced us along, but= we stopped many times, whenever Jimmy uttered some odd words to the driver. My first lion family was a joy; we could not have been more than twenty yards = from mum and cubs at one point. We got up close to an Armadillo that seemed to j= ust ignore us, then found a herd of Elephants the other side of a stream. We sat quietly, and they looked us over a few times, the youngsters frolicking in = the water. Must have stayed there for an hour, but I was not complaining, I was starting to really enjoy the experience. Further on we spotted Cheetahs, Ze= bras in the distance, before pulling into what looked like a farm. And there sta= rted one of the great loves of my life.

&nb= sp;    It was not a farm, but an animal sanctuary for injured or orphaned animals that the rangers and wardens found. The German staff greeted Jimmy, who offered = them ten thousand in dollars towards their costs. Fair to say we got the run of = the place after that. A teenage girl with a lopsided hat and cute smile took me= to one side and sat me down against a wall, re-appearing with a bottle of milk= and a bundle of blankets. She handed me the bottle and unwrapped the bundle; a = lion cub with its eyes still closed. And for the next hour or so I fed numerous = lion cubs, a Cheetah cub, and a baby monkey with wrinkly pink skin and an improv= ised nappy. I was hooked. As she knelt next to me, making sure I was playing mum correctly, her khaki green shirt fell forwards and revealed her small breas= ts. Then she began talking about nipples and teats. I got her back onto the sub= ject several times.

&nb= sp;    They cooked us a meal, not least because of the ten grand they’d received,= and we all got along like old friends. Jimmy’s knowledge of animals and t= he country amazed them, so he explained it away by telling them he had visited many times before. Good job they didn’t check his passport.

&nb= sp;    During the meal Jimmy took a sandwich out to the black driver, who seemed not to be allowed inside. When Jimmy returned, the family avoided eye contact for five minutes.

As we sat at their kit= chen table, the sun going down, a variety of animals wandered in. A fully-grown Cheetah forcing its nose under my armpit and pinching my food was a shock. = Not the table manners, but the fact that it was a grown Cheetah. Second time ar= ound I stroked its chin and head and it seemed to like that more than my meal. G= uess he had tried the hostess’s cooking before. A fully-grown lion caused = me to stand and look worried, Jimmy grinning at my discomfort.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not to worry,’ the teenage girl told me in her accented voice, sounding l= ike the South Africans I had seen on the TV. ‘It has a gammy leg, and we = file down its teeth and claws. It cannot hurt anyone.’
&nb= sp;    Jimmy got up and grabbed the beast around the neck. It struggled, but he held it firm. He got the animal to rise up and put its paws on his shoulders as he grabbed it by the mane, the lion seeming to enjoy the encounter. They moved outside and started rolling around on the floor like old friends, carefully observed by the bemused staff. Finally, Jimmy poured water into the lion’s mouth, hand feeding it some meat.

&nb= sp;    ‘It is not normally so easy to control,’ the surprised manager informed m= e. ‘He is a strong man, your friend.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Either that … or he smells like a lioness,’ I suggested.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy returned to perplexed looks, letting out a sentence in some local dialect: = a lion knows another lion when he sees one. That shocked the man even mor= e, Jimmy taking off his ripped shirt and adding to their fixed gaze.

&nb= sp;    Back at the lodge, we nagged the staff to join us at the veranda bar, and Jimmy bought everyone way too many drinks, soon a round of German songs filling t= he night air, some quite rude, followed by the black driver singing a local la= ment about a boy who lost his goat. In fairness, the lament was quite good, and somehow very African.

&nb= sp;    I missed breakfast, sleeping in, and missed the big row with the owners. The = previous night’s activities had resulted in everyone being hung over, Jimmy pa= ying the manger a thousand dollars for his troubles – principally a lack of available staff. I eased into the taxi with a squint, a water bottle and a hangover, and we set off again. As we trundled along poorly maintained road= s I tried to sleep, feeling guilty because I was supposed to be getting an appreciation of Africa in general and Kenya in particular. But when you’re hung over everything is a chore.

River View Hotel<= /p>

Another four hours and we were to t= he coast, although I slept some of the way and had no idea where we were. We w= ere checked through tall security gates with large holes, making me wonder why = they were there at all, and piled out at yet another reception desk.<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘What’s this place?’ I asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘A hotel we’ll buy in years to come.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Really. Looks a bit, you know…’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy grinned, and nodded towards a path. ‘Walk down there, I’ll chec= k us in.’

&nb= sp;    So off I went; sunglasses, squint, parched throat and headache. I followed the path, winding past thatched huts, nicely decorated inside from what I could see, and onto a beach. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I let out, clanking along a wooden walkway over the sand and to a beach bar. I took a seat in the shade= of the beach bar and accepted a fruit drink of some sort with ice-cubes in. It= did the trick.

&nb= sp;    The horseshoe bay enclosed five hundred yards of turquoise ocean, its sand a brilliant white. The water looked shallow and inviting, some sort of net st= rung out across the mouth of the bay. At the back of the sand nestled two-dozen huts, all similar to those I had passed, a few guests sat outside their hut doors and sunning themselves. I could see white families, but also a few bl= ack families. At least there was no segregation here, I noted. The edges of the= bay were bracketed by rocky outcrops, perfectly symmetrical and opposite each other. And at one end of the bay a local man was showing a young elephant to some guests.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy plonked down and ordered a beer. ‘Room twelve for you, for your drink= s tab. So, what do you think?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Great location, fucking excellent beach. Better than Brighton beach! What’ll this place cost?’

&nb= sp;    ‘We’ll buy it next year, just over three hundred ‘k’ for all the land.’

&nb= sp;    ‘K? Is that the currency down here?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sorry, K … is computer talk; it means a grand. In the future everyone says K. How much is that house? It’s two hundred K.’

&nb= sp;    I took in the layout, that which I could see. ‘How far along does it go?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Long old way; almost half a mile to the north. There’re gardens here for g= rowing food for the hotel, farms with chickens and pigs.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘And an elephant,’ I said, pointing. Checking that no one was in earshot, I said, ‘There’re black families here. I figured the white folk h= ere … you know.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘There’s some de-facto segregation here, but that’= ;s about money more than skin colour. The black families you can see are rich, and t= hey don’t want poor black families in here anymore than the white folk do. You’ll soon learn that African blacks are far more racist than their white counterparts; if you’re not from the right tribe or region, they’d happily kill you. You see the staff here … they’re= all from this region. If someone from another region came here with a different accent the locals would attack him.

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s something you have to learn about Africa, and quickly; it’s all triba= l, with fuck-all unity at national level or for the continent. If someone from Tanzania was in the UK and he met someone from Kenya, then fair enough they’d probably chat. Here they wouldn’t, even if they were neighbours. The locals can pick up an accent and see it in the faces. So if= the new neighbours don’t look and sound as they should … its war! O= ne of the problems here, especially in years to come, is the Somalis. Their own country is about to implode into civil war, and many refugees will stream south, taking land here as squatters and causing lots of problems. It’= ;s one of my tasks.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Tasks? What is?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Fixing Kenya.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Why?’

&nb= sp;    ‘In years to come a Muslim terrorist group called The Brotherhood will rise up, various places at various times. One of the first things they’ll do is move south from Somalia, attacking Kenya. Before that happens we need to fix the economy and politics of Kenya and get them ready.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nice of us,’ I grumbled.

&nb= sp;    ‘There’s still a hell of a lot you don’t know. We can stop The Brotherhood here … or wait till they walk down the Richmond High Street.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Here,’ I firmly suggested.

‘Right, you̵= 7;ve never been scuba diving.’

‘Nope.’

‘After lunch.= 217;

And two hours later I = lay in a few feet of crystal clear water, exhilarated by the curtain of orange fish darting about as the dive instructor, German again, cut up a dead fish and thrashed it about. I was now hooked on diving, and lion cubs the size of my hand. And I never did find out why they called that damn hotel ‘River View’; the nearest river was miles away. Sea View, sure, or Mountain View, but we never did find out why it was called River View.

The music business

A few days after getting back from = Kenya, suitably tanned and showing it off, we headed for a small office in Kentish Town. Jimmy was keeping the trip a secret to “see what a dull twat I was”. We jumped out of the taxi around 11am, and pushed the buzzer on= a purple door between two antique shops. I have to admit, I though it might be some dingy brothel. A small card declared it to be Pineapple Records. =

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes?’ crackled a woman’s voice.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy leant in. ‘Here to see Oliver Standish.’

&nb= sp;    A buzz preceded a click, and we pushed the door open, met immediately by a st= eep set of stairs whose carpet had seen better days. Our footfalls were heavy a= nd echoing, announcing our approach. We opened into an office that seemed much larger on the inside than I would have expected.

&nb= sp;    ‘Bigger on the inside,’ I noted.

&nb= sp;    ‘We get that a lot,’ a pretty young girl stated. ‘This office is actually three houses knocked into one, at least their upstairs parts. You after Oliver?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Please,’ Jimmy said.

&nb= sp;    The girl took a moment to study Jimmy. ‘Haven’t I seen you in Tosca, down the Kings Rd?’

‘Probably,’= ; he replied. ‘Next time, kick me in the shins and I’ll get you a drink.’ We edged towards a man striding towards us. ‘You must be Oliver,’ Jimmy said, a firm handshake initiated. The boss, Oliver, was average in every sense; height, weight and looks, easy on the eye with a friendly and welcoming face. To me he appeared to be in his early thirties.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes. And you are…?’

‘I’m Jimmy= Silo, this is Paul, and we’d like to buy your company.’

&nb= sp;    That caught the guy off guard, as well as the staff within earshot.

&nb= sp;    ‘I didn’t know it was up for sale,’ Oliver quipped. ‘But sti= ll, nothing to lose by a coffee and a chat.’

&nb= sp;    We settled around a neat desk floating in a sea of untidy floor littered with files and tapes.

&nb= sp;    ‘The reject pile,’ Jimmy told me.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not all rejects,’ Oliver countered.

&nb= sp;    ‘You sign up one in fifty-two, I’d guess,’ Jimmy told him.

&nb= sp;    ‘That’s … a good guess. I see you’ve done your homework.’

&nb= sp;    I picked up a music sheet with some lyrics in pencil.

&nb= sp;    Oliver asked me, ‘Do you have an eye, or indeed ear, for such things?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘He doesn’t, I do,’ Jimmy cut in.

&nb= sp;    Oliver raised an eyebrow. ‘Forgive my impertinence, but you don’t look= the music type. More the … nightclub doorman type.’

&nb= sp;    I said, ‘More the multi-millionaire type,’ still reading the lyri= cs, someone’s hard work. Either that or their drug crazed delusional ramblings.

&nb= sp;    Oliver smiled. ‘I see you gentlemen like the direct approach.’ He asked Jimmy, ‘Where are you from, I’m not picking up any accent?̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    ‘All over,’ Jimmy replied, easing back into his seat. ‘So, down to business. You … are doing OK for a small record company, but going nowhere in particular. Last years accounts were the same as the years befor= e, and will be same as this year.’

&nb= sp;    ‘That’ll save money with your accountant,’ I helpfully suggested. ‘Just photocopy them.’

&nb= sp;    Oliver did not see the joke, Jimmy shooting me a look.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy continued, ‘So what I would like to do is this: I buy seventy percent= of the shares for three hundred thousand pounds.’

&nb= sp;    I could see from Oliver’s expression that the numbers were exciting him= .

&nb= sp;    Jimmy continued, ‘That would be spread over three years, so that you don’t run away. You stay on as boss and draw a salary of … what … forty-grand a year? I give the company a director’s loan of h= alf a million, and you get some decent offices and some advertising going. You leave the selection of budding musicians to me.’

&nb= sp;    Oliver coughed out a laugh. ‘Well … that’s er … quite an offer.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Given what this company makes, it’s above appropriate and generous, yet fac= tors in your loyalty. And none of the staff would have to leave.’ Jimmy to= ok out a thick envelope and handed it over. ‘The details are all there, = so you can peruse them at your leisure.’

&nb= sp;    Tea and coffee finally arrived. We waited, Oliver now under the spotlight. At l= east he hadn’t thrown us out yet. And the pretty girl gave us biscuits, no= ne for Oliver. Guess she didn’t like the boss.

&nb= sp;    Oliver scanned the document. ‘And how much … input would you have into day-to-day running?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Some, obviously,’ Jimmy answered. ‘My accountants and solicitors would breathe down your neck once in a while, I’ll pop-in twice a month or = so, and we’ll obviously link anyone you sign up to the nightclub I’= ll be opening.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nightclub?’ Oliver repeated.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy forced a neutral smile. ‘One with a large room with a stage to showca= se new bands, as well as to select new bands. You know … talent contests.’

&nb= sp;    Oliver seemed to be nodding as he considered it. ‘You said … you would select new artists?’

&= nbsp;    ‘Yes, get that chore out of your hair.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You’ll be able to see your carpet again,’ I suggested. ‘What colour is it?’

&nb= sp;    Oliver smiled widely, but briefly. ‘I guess there now follows some hard s= ell?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy stood, so I followed him up. ‘No, take your time to think about it. No hurry. My contact details are on the proposal.’

&nb= sp;    Oliver followed us up, Jimmy shaking his hand. It was just a brief meeting, but I liked Oliver straight away.

Outside, Jimmy said, ‘Well?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nice bloke, I liked him.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And what do you think I’m up to?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Going to get your own record company so that you can shag nice lady singers?̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    ‘Partly right,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘What else?’

&nb= sp;    I was being thick again and shrugged my shoulders.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy said, ‘The future?’

&nb= sp;    I was still being thick.

&nb= sp;    Irate, Jimmy explained, ‘I know every band that’s going to be a succes= s, dumb fuck.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh … yeah.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy shook his head. ‘Fucking Batman never had this much trouble with Robin.’

Would you kill Hitler as a child?

Metropolitan Police Commander Harris waited in a nondescript café, a mug of tea cooling, his uniform carefully covered by a trench coat.

&nb= sp;    With a ‘ding’ the door opened, a man sitting down opposite. ‘T= ea, love,’ he shouted at the woman behind the counter. Facing Harris, he said, ‘So … problem?’

&nb= sp;    ‘A … dilemma.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ah. Guess that’s why you’re paid more than me.’

&nb= sp;    They waited as a mug of tea was plonked down. Harris slid across a small slip of paper.

The newcomer read it. ‘What’s this guy done?’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s what he’s going to do,’ Harrison carefully mouthed.=

&= nbsp;    ‘Ah. Another one of those.’

&nb= sp;    ‘This chap, when he grows up, will kidnap, rape and kill a string of twelve-year-= old girls.’

&nb= sp;    The newcomer’s features hardened. They stared at each other for several seconds till the newcomer lowered his head and re-read the note. In a low, husky voice he said, ‘Be difficult for him, not being able to see and all.’

Students on planes

‘Remind me again why we’= ;re here?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.

&nb= sp;    ‘World peace.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah, thought so. Just checking.’

&nb= sp;    We stepped into a damp stairwell and climbed up numerous flights of steps, this nondescript building located just off the Tottenham Court Rd, Central Londo= n. Finally we were to the Student’s Union Travel Department, what it was. Apparently, they advised long-haired students on getting cheap flights arou= nd the world, and it reminded me of my own student days in Kingston Polytechni= c. Jimmy knocked and entered, the two of us stepping into a cramped and untidy office.

&nb= sp;    ‘Been burgled, have we?’ I asked a bored looking middle-aged woman, Jimmy shooting me a look.

&nb= sp;    She studied us over the rims of her bifocals. ‘Not students.’<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘Worse,’ I said. ‘Stockbrokers.’

&nb= sp;    She raised an eyebrow.

&nb= sp;    ‘I’m looking for Mr Timms,’ Jimmy told her.

&nb= sp;    A young man stepped in at the mention of his name, looking like a student in a three-day-old shirt. ‘Yes?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy got straight to the point. ‘We’d like to give you some money.’ That got their attention. ‘You handle student exchanges= , in particular with Russia and China?’

&nb= sp;    Young Mister Timms nodded. Jimmy gestured the man back towards his own office, wh= ich turned out to be a corner of an even more cramped room that he shared with = six others. There were just enough seats for the staff, none left over for gues= ts, charitable donors or otherwise.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy asked him, ‘How much do you spend each year on exchanges to Russia and China?’

&nb= sp;    Timms shrugged. ‘About five grand, I think.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And how many people does that allow to travel?’ Jimmy asked, the rest of = the young staff now attentive to the two stuffed suits in their midst.

&nb= sp;    ‘About … twenty five.’

&nb= sp;    I made that two hundred quid a throw.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy presented a cheque in an envelope. ‘Now you can send an extra hundred each year. My address is in the envelope, and I want a list of names - and places they visited. If I’m satisfied with your progress, I’ll double the amount next year.’

&nb= sp;    Timms read the cheque with an expression, as if it might be a fake.

&nb= sp;    I closed in on a pretty girl. ‘I went to Kingston Polytechnic myself.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Errrr,’ she let out with a pulled face.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy grinned. ‘Should have told her you were a millionaire, might have wor= ked better. Come on.’

&nb= sp;    We turned and left, my pride hurt. What the hell was wrong with Kingston Polytechnic? And we gave the fuckers money.

Our faces in the papers<= /span>

Next day we got up early and hopped= on the train at Paddington Station, bound for sunny Cardiff. I had not been in= the First Class section of a train before and sat looking the place over.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘We’re not in First Class,’ Jimmy pointed out as he stood waiting.

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh, yeah, right. I knew that … I was just, you know, checking it out.R= 17;

&nb= sp;    We squeezed past people in the queue at the buffet car, and grabbed two seats = on a table of four, suit jackets off and neatly folded, placed overhead. Jimmy started on his newspaper as we pulled out, the train almost empty.

&nb= sp;    ‘Empty,’ I idly mentioned.

&nb= sp;    ‘Going the wrong way,’ Jimmy quietly stated without taking his gaze off his paper. ‘Workers come in to London in the mornings, students - = and people visiting relatives - go out from London. Same with the motorways.= 217;

&nb= sp;    Five minutes later we were slowly clanking over points and picking up speed.

&nb= sp;    ‘Grub?’ I asked, sat in the isle seat.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘Burger, sandwich, tea. Something for you.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    I joined the queue.

Two hours, and several teas later, = we pulled into Newport.

&nb= sp;    ‘If you look left,’ Jimmy said without raising his head. ‘You’= ;ll see where I was born. Parents now live off to the right.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    I scanned what detail I could, the track raised to the height of the tops of = the terraced houses. I could see urban hills and then a river. ‘Low tide?’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s the River Usk, which enjoys the second highest tidal range in the world = 211; about thirty feet.’

&nb= sp;    ‘We close to the coast?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Couple of miles to the Severn Estuary, off to the left.’
&nb= sp;    I clocked the town centre, what I could see, before we ground to a squeaky ha= lt at the station. Jimmy looked up, issuing a sigh after studying the platform, alone with his own thoughts. He appeared saddened. Ten minutes later we wer= e in Cardiff.

The first impression o= f any place is often from a train carriage. As I sat there, I thought, what a = shit hole. Why the fuck didn’t the council clean up those houses facing the track? It would make a better impression on visitors. Still, London was just as bad; rich people didn’t live in houses overlooking the train tracks. We walked out through the crowds, grabbing a taxi.

&nb= sp;    ‘Heath Hospital,’ Jimmy told the driver.

     As the streets blurred= by I tried to take in as much detail as I could, clocking the old castle and the civic centre. The hospital turned out to be a giant white edifice, almost a single block that had been unimaginatively designed by the same guy who commissioned the rest of the high rises in 1960s Britain. If I ever met = that guy… We stopped next to a park, Jimmy checking his watch. After paying the cabbie, Jimmy approached a photographer.

&nb= sp;    ‘You from The Echo?’ The guy nodded. ‘Follow us, then.’ <= /o:p>

Jimmy led us to a buil= ding next to the park, looking as if it had been designed after a trip to Japan = and some Saki downed. This is where our taxes went, I considered as we stepped = down a flight of steps and into a reception area. Medical Genetics it read, a br= ief flash in my mind of Jimmy strapped to a chair and being drugged up by mad scientists. I was, however, reasonably sure that these guys had nothing to = do with that. I could see parents with kids, toys on the floor. We ignored the= lady receptionist and trailed up a flight of steps, turning right at the top.

&nb= sp;    ‘Jill, Prof Harper,’ Jimmy offered.

&nb= sp;    The ‘Professor’ could not have looked more like an archetypal profe= ssor if he tried; wild grey hair and a tank top. He seemed confused, or in pain,= I couldn’t figure out which.

&nb= sp;    ‘Sorry for the unannounced visit, but I’m a rather busy man,’ Jimmy sa= id. They shook as a peeved looking secretary peered around the door. Jimmy pull= ed an envelope from his jacket pocket. ‘I’d like to donate some mo= ney.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh … well … that’s always appreciated,’ Prof Harper offered. He opened the envelope to a cheque for quarter of a million pounds. Poor bugger had to hold a finger to the digits to work them out he was so surprised.

&nb= sp;    ‘That’s a quarter million quid,’ Jimmy casually noted. ‘Can we have a p= hoto before we set off back for London?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Um … er, yes ... of course,’ the startled academic managed to get = out. Jimmy and me stood either side of the recipient, a photo quickly snapped. ‘My details are in the envelope if you want to put me on your Christm= as card list,’ Jimmy told him before nudging me out the door.=

&nb= sp;    With the snapper trailing behind, we walked the short distance around to the children’s building, some sort of new centre for kids and their paren= ts to gather at. Jimmy went straight in, and straight to the office he wanted. With as much haste as previously, we stunned another academic medic. And I = was getting confused by all the wall-signs and directions, not least because th= ey were doubled-up into Welsh. What the hell was Obstetrics? It sounded painfu= l. We got our pictures taken with someone who looked like he would need the Cardiac Department, wherever the hell that was. At least I could see the si= gns for X-Ray in case I broke a leg. Jimmy thanked the snapper and gave the man= a twenty note. Soon we were in a taxi to Newport.

&nb= sp;    ‘Parents,’ I figured.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded, looking both concerned and saddened, no explanations forthcoming. We sped along the motorway into Newport’s suburbs and to a bland semi. ‘Mum’ was surprised to see him.

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh, Jimmy.’ The white-haired lady held the door open and let us in, Jimmy towering over her. ‘You’re smart.’

&nb= sp;    ‘This is Paul, he works with me at the stock brokers,’ Jimmy lied.

&nb= sp;    We entered the lounge, a tanned, grey haired man easing up, somewhat reluctant= ly. I could see the family resemblance.

&nb= sp;    ‘Tea?’ came an unseen voice.

&nb= sp;    ‘Two, milk and sugars,’ Jimmy shouted back as he sat.

&nb= sp;    I said hello to his father, then clocked some of the family photos. As his mum returned, I plonked down. ‘So, you two are responsible for bringing t= he big guy into the world.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Getting bigger all the time,’ his mum mock-complained. ‘Are you seeing clients down here?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Came to see a broker in Cardiff,’ Jimmy lied. ‘You well?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, all OK. Your bother was down on the weekend,’ his mum enthusiastically reported.

&nb= sp;    ‘Did you drive?’ his dad enquired.

&nb= sp;    ‘No, train,’ I put in. ‘Read the papers on the way.’

&nb= sp;   We made small talk for twenty minutes, tea and scones downed, before Jimmy gave his father a wad of money. He had to spend ten minutes justifying how much = he was on before his father would grudgingly accept it. Leaving the house, we walked back towards the train station, a twenty-minute stroll, Jimmy pointi= ng out a few places of interest; it seemed to be somewhat of a trip down memory lane for him. Passing through a run down area, he pointed out where he had = been born.

&nb= sp;    ‘You know, when in Canada – and they were finishing off the time machine – one bright spark suggested that anyone going through the portal wou= ld re-appear as a younger version of themselves, probably with no memory of the future; which would have achieved nothing. I had to consider that I might re-appear back here as a kid or teenager. Wasn’t a pleasant thought, I could not have done my school years again. I figured that, if I re-appeared here, I’d top myself rather than do my school years again.’

&nb= sp;    ‘That bad, were they?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, not bad, but just imagine it: fifty pence pocket money and in bed at nine o’clock, bath on a Sunday, spelling homework! Could you do it … with an adult brain in your head?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Be hard, but maybe fun.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It was hard enough going back to twenty years old, damn hard to pull off. And = that was without re-possessing a younger body.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Then how…?’

&nb= sp;    ‘The other me, the original, went forwards. It was a swap.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So, what would have happened to –’

&nb= sp;    ‘An uncertain future. Probably would have been dead quickly knowing where I came from. Conditions were harsh.’

On the trip back he was gloomy, but for reasons I could never have understood.

&nb= sp;    I said, ‘Your folks … they’ll see us the in the local rag?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, we’ll be in the Cardiff Echo, they don’t read it. But someone w= ill tell them and … and it’ll be a big row.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Why?’ I delicately broached.

&nb= sp;    He held his gaze on the countryside shooting by. ‘Because I should keep = my money for a rainy day, or give it to the family.’
&nb= sp;    ‘Your dad didn’t seem too pleased to take any money?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Exactly. But that don’t mean I should give it to strangers either.’=

Pineapple records=

I answered the phone to Oliver Stan= dish from Pineapple Records on a wet Tuesday morning, two weeks after meeting wi= th the guy at his offices. ‘How you doing, mate?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Good, good. Is … er … James about?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sure is, and he don’t like James very much – Jimmy will do.’

&= nbsp;    Jimmy took the phone. ‘Home for fallen women. Are you dropping off or picki= ng up?’

&nb= sp;    Oliver laughed. ‘Picking up, definitely. How are you?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Keenly awaiting your next sentence, Oliver.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Well, I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I like the proposal. So, w= here do we go from here?’

&nb= sp;    ‘My accountants and solicitor will be around to you this afternoon with some pa= pers … and a big cheque. Can you join us for a meal this Friday, br= ing the whole gang?’

&nb= sp;    ‘I should think so.’

&nb= sp;    ‘In the meantime, could you send around every tape that was rejected or not yet screened, use a courier and I’ll pay this end.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Will do, quite a few boxes full though!’

&nb= sp;    ‘You’ll be able to Hoover after. I know you probably have things to do, but I’= ;d appreciate that pile of tapes in a box in a matter of hours.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Not a problem, I boxed them up on the weekend, kind of a clean sweep through the office. I’ll send them round c.o.d. right away.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Thanks. We’ll pop in this week, dinner Friday – treats for the staff.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sounds like a plan. Your people –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Will be with you around 2pm. Call me if you have any questions, anything at all. Bye.’ He put the phone down.

&nb= sp;    ‘They got any sexy chicks on their books already?’ I keenly enquired, closi= ng in.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy made a face. ‘Not really.’

An hour later we took delivery of t= hree large cardboard boxes.

&nb= sp;    ‘Right,’ Jimmy began. ‘Earn your bloody keep.’ He upturned a box, its contents spilling over the floor. ‘Call out the name, the stage name,= and the name of the song.’ He picked up a tape as I grabbed several.=

&nb= sp;    ‘David Wilson, Call me back baby.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nope. Back in the box.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Susan Chasilton, a.k.a Sugar Sweety, Blow my mind.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nope.’

&nb= sp;    An hour later we had selected just three artists from three big boxes.

&nb= sp;    ‘Take that lot down to the garage, ask the doorman to bin it all, and slip him a = few quid.’

&nb= sp;    We put the tapes that we had selected - that Jimmy knew would be hits - into a= big envelope and couriered it back to Pineapple. Our note said: Sign them up pronto, please – bring them out Friday.<= /p>
&= nbsp;    ‘They going to be big hits?’ I asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Two will be big, one will be a one hit wonder, like a lot of artists. Eighty percent of who we sign up will have just the one big hit.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Why just one?’

&nb= sp;    ‘After one hit they go a bit crazy, often hit the booze and the drugs, let it all = go to their heads. A hit record makes you very arrogant, especially if you’re living in a bed-sit at the moment. From Hackney to a limo fucks with their heads, they lose it.’ He cracked a cheek into a smile. ‘One of the singers you’ll meet Friday will be big across twenty years, and she’s a babe.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Which of us … er … dates her?’ I carefully nudged.

&nb= sp;    ‘Neither, she likes girls.’

&nb= sp;    I took a moment to get my head around that. ‘Do you think…?’= ;

&nb= sp;    ‘Once or twice, her and mate, when they’re drunk.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Yes!’ I punched the air and did a little dance.

&nb= sp;

Rubber veins

A few months later we reached a fin= ancial target. Actually, we were ahead of schedule, and so headed back down to Cardiff. I figured we’d be donating more money, but Jimmy said no. He= had contacted the Professor at Medical Genetics and asked for an introduction to the head of Medical Physics, which did not sound as painful as Obstetrics. = This new fella must have been salivating at the prospect of some money.

&nb= sp;    The aforementioned department was located down in the bowels of the hospital, a= nd it turned out they made things, weird bits of equipment for specialist use,= all of the stuff they showed us turning my stomach. A new clamp for holding ope= n a chest did nothing for my appetite. We finally sat in the Manager’s office, not a professor, and the guy was called Dyke - pronounced ‘dick’. I held my tongue.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy kicked off with, ‘I would like to invest some money into designing and building a training aid for medics, both doctors in the hospital environmen= t, as well as paramedics and ambulance staff. I’m looking for someone li= ke yourself to design an artificial sick person. What I mean by that is= an advanced dummy – not a robot or anything clever – but a dummy t= hat lies down and looks and feels like an unconscious person.’=

&nb= sp;    Dick was intrigued, but I could see a hint of disappointment that he had not got= a fat cheque yet.

&nb= sp;    ‘What … er … what would it be used for?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Training, since there are many things that you cannot practice on a live person or simulate - such as rapid pulse, unless you inject the willing volunteer with adrenaline.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ah. I see,’ Dick offered.

&nb= sp;    ‘Got a paper and pen?’ Jimmy nudged.

&nb= sp;    Dick got himself ready.

&nb= sp;    ‘We need to find a rubber tube with the consistency of an artery. It stretches = like an artery, it breaks like an artery, and it can be cut like an artery. Then= we map out all veins and arteries in the body and make a working model in rubb= er, or similar material. Then you find a suitable material to make an artificial bone that breaks like a normal bone, weighs the same. Then you build an artificial muscle from strands of something else, so that it looks, feels a= nd weighs the same as a muscle, and when you cut through it looks like muscle –’

&nb= sp;    ‘For training surgeons?’ Dick said without looking up, scribbling away.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, but also for a few other purposes. You then find a substance that looks and feels like skin, cuts like skin. The arteries are attached to an external p= ump that creates a pulse which can be varied –’
&nb= sp;    ‘To simulate various medical conditions,’ Dick put in as he scribbled awa= y.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, and rubber lungs attached to external pipes so that they can inflate or deflate; in essence, a complete artificial person. The head should be realistic, with eyes that either dilate or weep.’
&nb= sp;    ‘Complicated. And expensive,’ Dick let out as he eased back.

&nb= sp;    ‘You get fifty thousand a year to start, plus capital costs, plus the rights to a commission on sales when it’s sold around the world. Year by year, depending on your progress, I’ll increase the budget. If you can show that it works, to my satisfaction, we’ll accelerate the timescale and you’ll receive more money. I’ll even look at giving you a grant= for a full time researcher or two to work on it.’

&nb= sp;    Despite the fact that he would not be getting a fat cheque, Dyke seemed interested.= It was done deal, a cheque for twenty thousand handed over on good faith.=

Hong Kong’s Mr Wang Po

We landed at Hong Kong airport at a= time when it was still under British control, and when 747s flew in at an angle designed to catch washing lines with their wing tips. Jimmy enjoyed my discomfort as we banked hard to line up with the runway. Peering out the ca= bin window, I could see into houses through their windows.

&nb= sp;    We had refused the recommended Drysdale Hotel when we booked the trip at the travel agents, a small firm around the corner from the flat that specialise= d in long haul. Being the excellent customers that we were they didn’t arg= ue. When we landed in Hong Kong, Jimmy explained that the Drysdale would burn d= own, but he could not remember exactly when.

We booked into the posh Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Jimmy explaining that he needed to bump into someo= ne there. We would not have normally spent so much money on a hotel, but this = was business. As it turned out, I really liked the Mandarin and would return ma= ny times in the future. Within an hour of hitting my room I was enjoying my fi= rst massage, two local ladies at the same time, with Chinese music playing in t= he background. I even had the James Bond style massage with a little lady walk= ing on my back. Fortunately, the little lady weighed six stone soaking wet.

Later, Jimmy led me do= wn to a large and empty function room, saying, ‘What do you reckon to the acoustics?’

‘Uh?’ was = all I offered as I scanned a large room with red curtains and red carpet. The doo= r sign said it was called ‘The Red Room.’ Fair enough.

‘Tomorrow, there’ll be a convention on stock market trading here, including technical trading and derivatives. We’re going to crash.’<= /o:p>

‘To find the guy= you want to bump into,’ I surmised.

‘He should be in= the audience. Mr Wang Po.’

‘Poor fucker,= 217; I muttered. ‘What does he do?’

‘He’s in proper= ty, shipping and food. At least he’ll be in those industries in a bigger = way in the years ahead.’

‘Successful guy?= ’ I asked as we took in the room.

‘By time we get = to 2009 he’ll be one of the richest men in China – worth about twenty billion quid.’

‘Shit…R= 17;

‘Exactly. And yo= u know how he made a lot of it?’ Jimmy teased.

After a moment I said, ‘You don’t?’

‘I do.’

‘Why? He’s Chinese, a communist rice nibbler!’

&nb= sp;    ‘In 1997 this place goes back to China and infects the whole country with capitalism. China rapidly becomes a very rich nation, and ultimately catche= s up to the Yanks – becoming the second super-power. And Wang Po is going = to help me make a few quid … as well as influence the Chinese Government.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Jesus,’ I blew out. ‘Don’t tell the UK Government.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy focused on me. And waited.

&nb= sp;    ‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘You’re already a very secret squirrel.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And so should you be, underling.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Less of the underling, I went to Kingston Polytechnic.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘Got your old McKinleys’ pass?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nope.’

&nb= sp;    He handed me my old pass. ‘You do now, underling.’

That evening we dined = at a restaurant that gave me vertigo, glass panels below our feet that viewed the street far below. At least the food was good. It was similar to that which I had sampled in the UK, but somehow better; I guess the ambience helped.

&nb= sp;    After the meal we sat on high stools at the bar, a huge glass front allowing an uninterrupted view over the brightly lit city. Numerous local girls made cl= umsy attempts to get a free drink and a new customer for a few hours, but we resisted. Jimmy surprised me with his fluent Mandarin, the brightly coloured little ladies in no doubt as to the firmness of the putdown.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not before the main event,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘Work comes first. Cou= ple of beers, bed, get rid of your jet-lag, be fresh in the morning. Sauna and swim, late breakfast, then crash the big show. You might recognise some of = the faces.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Anyone from McKinleys?’ I puzzled

&nb= sp;    ‘They’re on the list, so our passes will get us in, dummy. Old Bob is here.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Old Bobby,’ I repeated, fond memories of the rotund senior broker, someth= ing of a mentor to me in my first few weeks.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy tipped his head. I followed his gaze to a table with a colourfully dressed local girl facing a rotund man. With a smirk, we eased up. Sneaking in quie= tly from behind, Jimmy slapped his hand onto Bob’s shoulder. In a Chinese accent, he said, ‘What you do my wife?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Wha … what?’ Bob stumbled, suddenly horrified. He hurriedly wiped h= is mouth with his napkin and stood. ‘By God! Jimmy Silo!’ He clock= ed me. ‘Paul?’

&nb= sp;    ‘In the flesh,’ I said, shaking his hand.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy shook Bob’s fat claw of a hand, then slipped the girl some currency a= nd told to her leave quickly. There were seats for four at the table, so we plonked down.

&nb= sp;    ‘What are you two doing here?’ Bob puzzled.

&nb= sp;    ‘What are you … doing here?’ Jimmy countered. ‘Besides shagging locals.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I’m here for the seminar … ah, you as well, eh?’ Bob surmised.=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy lifted his eyebrows and nodded.

&nb= sp;    ‘And I’m here for the booze,’ I put in. ‘So, anyone else from McKinleys here?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh, yes,’ Bob replied. ‘Couple. Right now they’re down the lo= cal brothel. I decided to give it a miss.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Really?’ Jimmy teased.

&nb= sp;    ‘Well, the young lady sat down –’

&nb= sp;    ‘If you don’t get rid of them quickly they see it as a contract,’ J= immy warned.

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh … really,’ Bob mused. ‘Never mind, only here for three da= ys. So, what you two been up to? I heard you had joined forces.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bit of trading,’ Jimmy nonchalantly stated.

&nb= sp;    ‘Still doing well?’ Bob whispered.

&nb= sp;    ‘Very well, of course,’ Jimmy responded.

&nb= sp;    Bob addressed me with, ‘Are you day trading, or client account, or what?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Learning to fly helicopters,’ I said. ‘So that I can impress birds.̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    Bob frowned his lack of understanding.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained, ‘He’s spending his pocket money on flying lessons. Something to impress the birds.’

&nb= sp;    Bob again focused on me. ‘You should get Jimmy to take you to some London clubs. Bit of a ladies man, our Jimbo.’

&nb= sp;    I resisted the temptation to respond to that. ‘Slave driver he is, I’m always too tired to go out. He’s got me on the Dow and the = Hang Seng – twenty-four hour job.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Bit of arbitrage, ay?’ Bob assumed.

&nb= sp;    Fresh drinks were placed down.

&nb= sp;    ‘So,’ Jimmy began. ‘Got your speaker’s pass for tomorrow?’=

&nb= sp;    Bob fetched it out. ‘They gave us these today.’
&nb= sp;    Jimmy took it off him and pocketed it. ‘I lost mine, so this’ll have = to do.’ He gave Bob a wad of notes. ‘Tomorrow you’re going sight-seeing and shopping.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh, er … right you are, Jimmy.’ Bob pocketed the wad. ‘Hate public speaking anyway.’

&nb= sp;    And, just in case Bob changed his mind about speaking at the seminar, we got him right royally drunk before making sure three ladies took him home. Jimmy removed Bob’s wallet first, paying the ladies well and telling them, = in Chinese, which hotel to drop in at, no earlier than 2pm. On the way back, J= immy explained that the ladies were under contract to the restaurant and = high class, so they would not abuse a customer – and no, I could not have = one.

&nb= sp;

As we again approached the aptly na= med Red Room, we encountered a throng of Chinese, most of who seemed pleased to= see us. Jimmy explained that the Chinese were into their trading in a big way, = and that seminars like this were always well attended. Some of the Chinese were even from across the border.

&nb= sp;    We flashed our McKinleys passes, although they were not needed: we were Caucas= ians in suits and in the minority, being treated like honoured guests, and there could not have been more than ten westerners present. Jimmy approached Bob’s massage-parlour visiting colleagues, the men startled in their recognition.

&nb= sp;    ‘Jimmy Silo!’ they questioned. ‘By God!’

&nb= sp;    We shook hands.

&nb= sp;    ‘Bob’s not well, so I’m speaking,’ Jimmy told them.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Do my slot as well,’ one of the men grumbled, not wanting to speak.=

&nb= sp;    ‘I will, I need the time,’ Jimmy said. ‘Give me a good write up, l= ay on thick, then wait for us in the bar.’

The first representati= ve of McKinleys spoke after two other Brits, boring talks about currency arbitrage and day trading. Then Jimmy took the podium. Unlike his countrymen, he gave= a welcome in Chinese, then French, Russian, and finally English. And the bugg= er could have warned me in advance about what was to come next. He gave a one-= hour talk, complete with numerous diagrams on a white board, in Mandarin Chinese= . At the end of it, the other Brits waiting to speak looked peeved, but the loca= ls loved it. And I was wondering just where, and when, he learnt to speak Chin= ese.

&nb= sp;    When Jimmy rejoined me, he asked, ‘How did I do? Clear enough?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Fuck off,’ I whispered as numerous locals closed in on us. ‘Is your = boy here?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. He answered questions from several locals as tea was served, then seemed to be heavily engaged with one particular gent, a round-faced local = with dimples in his cheeks and a permanent smile. He introduced the man to me as= Mr Wang Po and we shook.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy said, ‘Mr Po speaks excellent English.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It OK,’ our new friend suggested, his words accented.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    Jimmy told him, ‘I’m happy to answer more questions, but not on an em= pty stomach.’

&nb= sp;    ‘We go, we, go. I have restaurant,’ Po insisted.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not wanting to hear the rest?’ I teased.

&nb= sp;    ‘No, no. Jimly theory vely good.’

&nb= sp;    We walked out through the crowds and to the taxi rank, but Po had a car waitin= g, a dark blue Rolls Royce. Chatting away like old friends, we got in and headed off, Jimmy trying to keep the conversation English for my benefit. But the = big guy looked, and sounded, like a nerd in a suit when he spoke Chinese. ‘Jimly’ could not seem to maintain the butch image as he contor= ted his face to form the Chinese words. It took half an hour to reach the restaurant, which turned out to be a staff canteen of sorts for the executi= ves of one of Po’s companies, numerous security gates negotiated as we spiralled up a hill. But the place turned out to be posh enough.=

&nb= sp;    Po was not the boss, but the boss’s son, his father elderly and infirmed= , Po being the heir and de-facto managing director. We settled down at a round table, many different offerings placed down, the idea being to sample a lit= tle of each and then order some more. I tucked in as numerous executives entere= d, each man bowing politely in our direction. Guess it was lunchtime around here.

&nb= sp;    I heard Po say, ‘You can predict big crash in market.’=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy suggested he could, and Jimmy did not get involved in guesswork. He and Po discussed ‘bubbles’ and ‘saturation points’, some of which I understood: if everyone was in the market, where would the new money come from? My ears pricked up when Po suggested Jimmy trade some money for = him.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy replied, ‘Mr Po, the fun of stock market trading … is to do it yourself. I am happy to provide you with recommendations for a few years, f= or you to see how good I am. After that we can talk about commission.’

&nb= sp;    Po was stunned. ‘A few years – no commission?’

&nb= sp;    ‘That’s correct. I am in no hurry … and a good friendship takes time.’<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    I decided to be helpful. ‘If you visit London we’ll show you around.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I have UK passport as well,’ Po explained. ‘This Hong Kong, no bleeding China!’

&nb= sp;    Trying to be even more helpful, I turned my head to Jimmy and said, ‘What was that company we heard about, the secret takeover?’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Ah, Anglo Oil,’ Jimmy responded, the company we had bought shares in the = day we left. He faced Po. ‘Anglo Oil should be a good bet in the next few days, they’ll be a bid by Shell.’

&nb= sp;    Po snapped his fingers at a lady and had a phone to his ear a few seconds late= r, a rapid exchange with his broker. Little more than a minute later, Po had ord= ered a million shares at just about two pounds.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy said, ‘Hold them till they reach two-eighty at least.’

&nb= sp;    Po thanked us as we stuffed our faces. I didn’t know what work Po did, b= ut we remained there till the sun went down, waited upon by the nice ladies in traditional dress. Jimmy told Po that we had to meet the other Brits, which= we didn’t, but offered to see him at the casino that night. It was a dat= e, Po sending us back in the Rolls.

&nb= sp;    Back in the hotel, I said, ‘We meeting McKinleys?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘No, just needed a break, or he would have adopted us as family. Get some rest a= nd be ready for 9pm, the car’s coming back for us, and it could be a late night. Oh, and his daughters – not a finger on them nor innuendo spok= en, you’d wash up in the harbour.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nice, are they?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Very. And sixteen with it.’

We were almost half a day ahead of = the UK, the FTSE opening as we were losing shed loads of money at the tables. At least I was, Jimmy was playing blackjack and doing OK. At some point someone must have handed Po a phone or given him a message, because the UK market h= ad opened with the news of the takeover leaked, Po now a million quid or so better of= f. First I knew of it was a member of staff offering me a silver tray with bun= dles of British Pounds on it.

&nb= sp;    ‘For you, sir, from Mr Po.’

&nb= sp;    With quite an audience observing, I accepted the money, a stack the size of two house bricks, then decided to head to Jimmy instead of my first impulse, wh= ich was to put it all on black.

&nb= sp;    ‘Anglo Oil?’ I knowingly asked.

&nb= sp;    A smiling Po, sat next to Jimmy, nodded the answer: it was already at three q= uid ten. Jimmy also had a pile of cash, stacked up on the table, but he did not seem to be gambling it.

It was my turn to surp= rise Jimmy. ‘Mr Po, can I ask a favour?’

‘Of course, of course.’

‘Can you hold this,’ I said, handing him the bundle. I took out the flyer that I had found in the drawer of the bedside cabinet and held it for Po to see. ̵= 6;I want you to take our money and give it to The Red Cross mission here in Hong Kong.’ I handed him the flyer.

Jimmy was as cool as e= ver, stacking his money on top of mine without even making eye contact with me.<= o:p>

Po was surprised, to s= ay the least. ‘You want to give it all – to Red Cross.’

‘Yes,’ I s= aid. ‘And I trust you to deliver it, of course.’
With a quick tip of th= e head, Po had two members of staff at hand, collecting the money with instructions= on what do with it.

A minute later Po̵= 7;s two daughters arrived, introductions given, Jimmy turning and standing. He enga= ged them at length about their studies, before switching to English, asking a f= ew more questions; it turned out that nearly all of the educated locals spoke English. And the two girls were just nice enough to eat. I took them to the bar, and helped them practice their English.

&nb= sp;    When the girls had to leave, Jimmy explained that we were due to meet our friends from McKinleys in the morning, and we thanked Po. Jimmy got Po’s fax number and card and gave him our details before we left, the Rolls taking us back again. We flew out the following afternoon with a new friend in the colony. And the local branch of the Red Cross got a surprise, Po as trustwo= rthy as the Pope. From now on I was to fax our new friend regular tips.

Kenya, February, 1987

Staying at the beach hotel that we = were due to buy, one day Jimmy ordered us a taxi and we set off through the dila= pidated gates, a half-hearted salute from the fat old guard.

&nb= sp;    ‘You’ll need to be good at improvising today,’ he said as we bumped along a r= oad that I was determined to fix some day. ‘Don’t react to weird st= uff, I’m going to frighten someone.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Frighten them?’ I asked, a careful study of the sweaty taxi driver. But the man seemed ignorant of our discussion, concentrating hard on trying to run over chickens in the road.

&nb= sp;    ‘There’s a woman … you’ll see. She thinks I was in the Second World War.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Were you?’ I testily asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘No, but her belief serves my purpose. You see, the first time I met her she tho= ught I looked familiar - told me a story about an English soldier who saved her during the war. I’ll adopt that persona so that she’ll assist us.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Assist us how? If she was in the war then she’s gotta be fucking ancient!= 217;

&nb= sp;    ‘Seventy now.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So…’

&nb= sp;    ‘She runs an orphanage,’ he said with a smirk.

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh,’ I muttered. ‘I got a few quid to give them.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Me too.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You Englanders?’ the taxi driver finally asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘From the Chicken Protection League.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘I like da chicken, man,’ I got back.

&nb= sp;    ‘Get your wife to scrape some off the tyres later, be well cooked by time you get home!’

We had passed this orp= hanage before, on each trip to the hotel. It was a red brick building on a corner = of the main road and resembled a school from the outside. It also looked a hun= dred years old and falling down, the outside dilapidated. I wondered what the in= side might be like, and I wondered too soon. The inside stank, a curtain of buzz= ing flies hanging in the air, the pungent odour of stale urine greeting any visitors – no need for a guard dog. I looked inside a hanging bell, b= ut found no striker, so I tapped it with a coin. A local appeared, a face so b= lack that I could not make out any features other than bloodshot eyes.

&nb= sp;    ‘Sister woman,’ Jimmy told the man.

&= nbsp;    The man, dressed in a sweat-stained blue shirt, turned around and hobbled into = the bright sunlight of an internal courtyard, the distant echoes of kids’ voices coming from somewhere. We followed him across the courtyard and into another building, to an office, finding the diminutive ‘Sister woman’ sat attending some paperwork. Her hair was grey and unkempt, a= nd she appeared as if she had neither had a good bath, nor a good meal, since = the end of the aforementioned war. Maybe even the First World War.

&nb= sp;    ‘God bless all here,’ Jimmy stated as we stepped inside, causing me to puz= zle the line. Blocking the sunlight of the doorway, Jimmy towered over her. ‘Are you all alone under the rubble, Mary?’ He held out his han= d.

&nb= sp;    She stood slowly, her wrinkled face contorted in confusion. For a full ten seco= nds she stared at him before holding a hand to her mouth and shrieking.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy took her frail arm, lifting her shirtsleeve and revealing a scar. He ran a finger along it. ‘I did good stitches, child.’ She collapsed ba= ck into her seat with another shriek, uttering some words in Dutch. Her assist= ant looked worried for her, pouring her a drink.

&nb= sp;    ‘Are you not glad to see me?’ Jimmy asked. ‘It has been a while.R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘You … you,’ she struggled to get out, pointing a shaky finger. And I was starting to feel uncomfortable; poor woman looked like she had seen a ghost.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, Mary. I have come to help.’ From his pocket, Jimmy handed over a thin wad, totalling ten thousand dollars, which out-trumped the ten dollars I was going to give them. She examined the wad. ‘I think some food for the children is in order, some more staff, and new toilets in the boy’s building,’ Jimmy told her. He turned about and led me outside. ‘Give her a minute, I’ll show you around our new orphanage.R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘Our … our orphanage?’ I queried.

&nb= sp;    ‘Our … AIDS orphanage.’

&= nbsp;    I stopped dead, not least because some of the sickly looking kids were closing in; snot noses, a dozen personal flies each, tatty clothes, ribs showing. I swallowed. I was not ready for this and Jimmy, bastard, had dropped me righ= t in at the deep end. He began to chat to some of the kids in various local dial= ects as I tried hard not to touch them. I was walking through them with my arms = up, as if negotiating a field of stinging nettles.

&nb= sp;    ‘They will not bite you,’ came a weak and husky voice from behind as Mary joined us.

&nb= sp;    ‘You can’t know that for sure,’ I told her. ‘They look hungry.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You are not like him.’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, I’m mortal,’ slipped out, immediately regretted. Now I was wind= ing up the old lady as badly as Jimmy, and by accident.

&nb= sp;    She put a hand over her eyes and stared in his direction. ‘I had prayed f= or help…’

&nb= sp;    I gave it some thought, trying not to make a joke. ‘Some solutions come= in extra-large size.’ We observed Jimmy pick-up two ten-year-old boys and swing them around. He straightened his arms level with his shoulders and spun around, the boys flying over the heads of the other children, the gathering staff amazed.

&nb= sp;    Finally he joined us, three members of staff now stood flanking the old woman. ‘I’ll be sending ten thousand dollars a month to start, more ne= xt year. We’ll be visiting regular, three times a year, and we will be taking over this orphanage, rebuilding it to hold more children. I will bui= ld a school and bring in teachers, also a permanent doctor based here.’

&nb= sp;    To say they were stunned was an understatement.

&nb= sp;    ‘Going to get some fly traps as well,’ I put in, hoping it did not sound too sarcastic.

&nb= sp;    He closed in on the old lady. ‘Now, show me the children who are dying.’

&nb= sp;    I swallowed. If the rest of the orphanage was anything to go by, what the hell awaited me in the Terminal Ward?

&nb= sp;    It was a bad as I thought; I was fighting not to be sick with the stench. The = kids lay in their own excrement, many with limbs dressed in bandages that had be= en white at some point.

&nb= sp;    Mary saw my look. ‘No money, no care. When they die we burn them. One or t= wo a day.’

&nb= sp;    In the space of an hour I had gone from a nice beachfront hotel and a cold beer … to hell on earth. My guts were turning and my thoughts jumbled. Wha= t I would have paid to be out of there that instant.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy faced Mary squarely. ‘Do you trust me?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Of course,’ she offered, seemingly shocked that he would ask.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Get a needle and syringe.’

&nb= sp;    My guts tightened some more as I stood as close as I could get to an open wind= ow. I could see out over some low brick buildings toward a wooded area at the r= ear, smoke coming from a fire. I remembered what she had said about the bodies, = suddenly vomiting hard through the window and gripping onto the peeling paint frame. Turning around a minute later, I saw Jimmy prepare a needle, hand it to Mar= y, and offer her his straight forearm upturned. After a moment’s hesitat= ion she drew dark red blood.

&nb= sp;    ‘Inject a quarter into the four children with the best chance of survival.’

&nb= sp;    What had she to lose, I thought as I observed; the beds held the living dead. Th= ese kids didn’t even have the strength to move their eyes towards us. She carried out her task diligently, returning to Jimmy as I retched again. My brain was fried and not working. As I stood there I realised he was immune = to everything, future genetics, and now I understood. His blood, in them, would make them better.

&nb= sp;    He informed her, ‘If it is not too late, they will run a fever for a day, then start to recover. They must have protein and water, so use the money I gave you. You understand?’

&nb= sp;    She nodded, holding the needle reverently.

&nb= sp;    ‘We will be back in seven days, use the money, there will be more. And Mary, do= not discuss me with anyone. Understand?’

&nb= sp;    I was very grateful when he grabbed me by the arm and led me out, delighted t= o be on the street again, but also a little angry at having been dragged in ther= e in the first damn place. Still, what he had done had put me to shame, and I fe= lt it as badly as my stomach hurt. We made the short trip back to the hotel in silence and I soon plunged into the cool waves, several beers at the bar be= fore I forgave him. And forgave myself.

&nb= sp;    ‘Better?’ he asked without looking around, Abba playing from a badly tuned radio behi= nd the bar.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah. Sorry about that.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s part of my world, not yours. Not yet.’ He faced me. ‘There̵= 7;s something you need to know. If I inject you with a syringe full of my blood … you’ll change, you’ll be just like me.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Change?’

&nb= sp;    ‘You’ll have extreme endurance … and be immune to every disease known to man. You’ll also live to be around one hundred and twenty, at least. You won’t be a hundred percent like me, maybe sixty percent, but you̵= 7;ll be able to break every Olympic record. And if you’re going to piss ab= out down here with me … you’ll need the immunity, or you’ll d= ie. And … most of all, you’ll be able to provide a very important backup to me, in case I’m killed.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Back up?’

&nb= sp;    ‘My blood has the key antibodies to a variety of diseases, including cancer. La= ter on, decades from now, doctors will use it to reverse engineer cures for a l= ot of things, saving millions of lives. And, when the time comes, if I’m= not around you could inject your mother.’

&= nbsp;    ‘Your blood … it will cure her,’ I realised.

&nb= sp;    ‘My blood will cure more than just her, she’s just one women – but whatever it takes to motivate you to do the right thing.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    I walked off, not returning till sun down.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy greeted me with, ‘For you the fun part is over, we’ll start to = get serious in the years ahead. Sit, there’re some things about the future you need to know.’

&nb= sp;    I was as sick as the Terminal Ward, my head now filled with what the future h= eld: disease, wars and financial crisis. Sat there, I must have aged ten years. = Ten cool beers later and I fell unconscious, unable to rid my guts of the feeli= ngs that gripped me.

&nb= sp;    The next day was a blur. I managed a quick swim, some bread for breakfast whilst Jimmy was off scuba diving, then a few beers and back to bed. By sun down I= had a thick head and took some Anadin with my beer. I joined him for dinner, bu= t we said little. I retired to my room and watched a black and white TV, mostly local Kenyan programmes. Seemed the Ford Capri had just arrived and was bei= ng shown off, and the in-crowd all had Sony Walkmans on their hips. I started = to wonder about what decade I was in.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy left me firm instructions - to get my dive certificate sorted, PADI Open Wa= ter followed by Advanced Open Water, which seemed to just consist of looking at fish and filling in questions in a book that had the answers in the back. I went diving as he headed off to ‘plan things’. A week later, freshly qualified as an Advanced PADI diver, I joined Jimmy in a return to = the orphanage from hell.

&nb= sp;    As we pulled up I noted numerous locals up ladders, some scraping the walls and others painting them a tacky bright blue. Hell, it beat the old natural bri= ck surface, I considered. We stepped over upturned paint pots and ducked insid= e.

&nb= sp;    The man with the very black face and no features shrieked, running away as fast= as his gammy leg would allow him. Guess he was a convert, and buying into the story of Jimmy being in the war. If he knew the truth, I considered, heR= 17;d do exactly the same thing and run off again. The courtyard enclosed happy playing kids, this time all dressed like school children in blue shorts and shirts; albeit dying from AIDS. I figured the guys painting the walls were trying to be consistent. There seemed to be more members of staff, now dres= sed in blue shirts, or maybe just the same staff with a bath and makeover. We r= an an eye over more painting work, again blue, and entered Mary’s office= .

&nb= sp;    She jumped up as fast as she could and gripped Jimmy’s outstretched hand = with both of hers. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ she said in an accent. ‘Come.’ She led us back towards the Terminal Ward.

&nb= sp;    ‘Hardware store had a sale on blue?’ I asked, trying to take my mind off what awaited us.

&nb= sp;    ‘In Kenya … it’s the law for children and kindergarten,’ she explained as we climbed the new blue stairs. Well, that explained it.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    The ward had been metamorphosed into something closer to this decade; and fucki= ng blue. The floor was covered in lino painted blue, the walls smoothed down a= nd painted blue, the windowsills painted blue. The ceiling fans were still rus= ted, so I guessed the staff hadn’t reached that far yet. The bed linen was clean, the kids alert and awake, their bandages white. At the far end of the ward, which now looked like a ward and not a death camp, a lady doctor from= the Red Cross sat attending a child.

&nb= sp;    Mary stood proud. ‘You see. You just need money.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    Jimmy half-turned his head towards me. ‘You just need money.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You just need money,’ I repeated, suddenly realising something. I stood nodding at my own understanding.

&nb= sp;    ‘Come, come. Quick,’ Mary got out, squeezing between us and heading back down the stairs in a hurry. We trailed behind. In the courtyard she called four names, the children falling-in as if soldiers on parade. ‘They had the blood,’ she explained.

&nb= sp;    I halted. For many seconds I could not move as it dawned on me; these four ki= ds, shiny faces and broad smiles in their neat blue uniforms, had been in the o= nes in the ward above, dying in their own filth.

&nb= sp;    ‘They put on weight quickly,’ she commended, adjusting their collars.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    Jimmy stood proudly inspecting them, the children stood like soldiers before their commander, exchanging a few words in the local dialect again. He was conten= ted, and sent them off to play. Facing Mary, he said, ‘The Red Cross doctor lady, she is Anna Pfunt?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Anna, yes,’ Mary responded. ‘You know her?’
&nb= sp;    ‘Let’s go and see.’ He led us back up the stairs. It was wind-up time again.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Anna?’ Mary loudly called, no regard for sleeping kids, the doctor walking down to= us. She stood dressed in a white overall with Red Cross flashes, an image that I would see a lot of in the future. A well-built woman, she looked like she c= ould handle herself in a bar fight. Her face was reddened from the heat, no make= -up, her blonde hair tied back.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yah?’

&nb= sp;    ‘This is the man who gave the money,’ Mary stated.

&nb= sp;    That did not seem to impress the big lady. She looked us over.=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy said, ‘Have you forgiven yourself yet … for your sister’s death?’ The Amazon warrior blinked. Jimmy continued, ‘It is why= you came here, Anna. Do you still blame yourself for Lotti’s accident? It= was not your fault, you were trying to get away from the old man … the di= rty old man in the big house at the end of Aust Strasse, but she could not ride= her new bike well.’

&nb= sp;    I could not tell if Anna wanted to punch him, or keel over.=

&nb= sp;    ‘How … how do you know this?’ she demanded in a whisper. ‘I te= ll no one this.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You told me.’

&nb= sp;    ‘When? When do I tell you this, I do not know you!’

&nb= sp;    ‘When you were asleep.’

&nb= sp;    Mary smiled contentedly, seeming to enjoy it.

&nb= sp;    ‘When I was … asleep,’ Anna asked, her brow pleated to the point of p= ain.

&nb= sp;    ‘When you were six,’ Jimmy began, ‘you asked God for a wish. You reme= mber what it was?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yah…’

&nb= sp;    ‘You now have a big brother.’ He handed her a wad of dollars. ‘Buy a= bus for the children, and take them to the ocean as you want to do. In the meantime, I want you to sit and watch us.’ He helped her down onto a = bed without resistance before facing Mary. ‘Syringes bitte, schwester.= 217;

&nb= sp;    With myself sat on a windowsill, blue of course, Anna on a bed, Mary ruthlessly = and hurriedly extracted blood, Jimmy wincing one or twice at the haste. Soon ‘Sister woman’ was injecting the kids, Anna on her feet after t= he second kid and seemingly not in favour of injecting one person with another’s blood, or the sharing of needles. When she finally managed = to open her mouth, Mary snapped at her, told her to shut up and watch the mira= cle. I had to commend her, the old lady attended every kid, the whole room in fifteen minutes or less, jabbing Jimmy in both of his arms, no antiseptic s= waps applied or consideration for his human condition. Nothing was going to stop her.

&nb= sp;    When done, Jimmy told Anna that he wanted her to stay for seven days and to obse= rve the children, but not to say anything to anyone; as a doctor it would go bad for her to be part of this. Now that was something of an understatem= ent. Even I knew that, and all I was … was PADI Advanced Open Water with a temporary paper certificate.

&nb= sp;    Back in the courtyard, I noticed the stack of three grubby mattresses. Pointing,= I said to Mary, ‘Throwing them out?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, no.’

&nb= sp;    ‘No,’ I challenged. ‘They’re filthy!’

&nb= sp;    ‘It is for the children, for the wall.’ She pointed, but I was lost. She clarified, ‘The painting work; people know we have money now. They co= me at night, here – this wall, and throw the kinder over the wall.’= ;

&nb= sp;    My eyes widened. ‘People … throw their kids over your wall?’= I was getting louder as well.

&nb= sp;    ‘The kinder with disease, they put them over the wall. We put the mattress so th= at they are not so hurt. The staff, they sit here at night and wait for the kinder. But the kinder bounce off the mattress and onto the floor, so always some problems.’

&nb= sp;    I pointed. ‘That fucking wall is six feet high!’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yah, they swing the kinder over the top.’

&nb= sp;    ‘The locals? They throw the kids with AIDS over the wall?’

&= nbsp;    Sister Woman nodded, none too phased. I couldn’t move. My face wanted to lau= gh out loud at the absurdity of it, my jaw stuck tight so that I would not app= ear to be laughing at anyone’s misfortune, my eyes watering.

&nb= sp;    I fought for a breath. ‘Why not … why not lower the wall?’<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘Then they come and steal the food. It’s OK, the kinder bounce.’=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nudged me out the main entrance, kicking empty paint tins as we went. I had just had a crash course in the African’s sense of practicality: mattresses to catch the children. Still, it seemed to work.

Back in Nairobi we diced with death= - we caught a taxi across town, and entered a nondescript office block. The guar= d on the door did not challenge us; white folk I guessed. Soon, we were seated before a perplexed looking Dutchman in a nice office, air conditioning and a mini-bar; this was the United Nations. And Mister Van Den something-I-could-not-pronounce was one of a very small team of people who = organised the clearing of mines and ordinance after wars and conflicts. I figured Jim= my would give him some money and we’d leave for the hotel rooftop pool.<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘I’m Jimmy Silo, a wealthy British stock market trader. I will be buying a hotel= or two in Kenya.’

&nb= sp;    Van Den Something was puzzled. ‘There is ordinance near the site of your hotel? It is near the border?’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, that’s not why I am here. I have taken charge of an orphanage …= and it’s terrible to see the children with no limbs…’ Van Den= was now following and looking very sympathetic. ‘So I wish to give some m= oney for mine clearance. But, more than that, I wish to be actively involved in = fund raising and awareness.’

&nb= sp;    Now we were talking Van Den’s language, not double Dutch, and he fetched = us both cold drinks. But I could not remember seeing any kids with missing lim= bs at Smurf central.

&nb= sp;    ‘What would you like to do, exactly?’ our host enquired.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘It strikes me … that the best people for mine clearance in any country a= re the locals themselves – suitably trained and supervised.’<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    Our host brightened. ‘Yah, yah. I have this idea also, but always the for= mer mercenary with the bad attitude. And they want so much money for the work.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded sympathetically. ‘If you can find a training facility … I can offer you ten or twenty thousand dollars a month.’

&nb= sp;    ‘A month? My God.’ Our host gave it some thought. ‘There is a plac= e, near the Somali border. There are former soldiers there, old grey men, but = they do not want much money to help. They have an airfield – not used R= 11; that the government allows them to occupy. They have trained a handful of locals, and some Somalis, in mine clearance.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy handed over a wad of dollars. ‘Please, give them this money. And, unt= il I’m back in a few months time, would you draw up some simple plans – something we can work to?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yah, yah, of course,’ our host excitedly got out.

And it turned out that= our host would be leaving the service of the UN in six months time, but wanted = to stay in Kenya with his family, his wife a local, his kid’s half-caste. Jimmy hinted at a job for the man, and we left a very excited pen pusher behind.

In the taxi, Jimmy sai= d, ‘I first met that guy at the rooftop bar. He told me about the mine clearance efforts and his family, when he would stop working for the UN, the camp on the border. I just wanted it to appear to be his idea.’<= /o:p>

‘And the orphana= ge gave you the credibility and the way in.’ I nodded to myself.

‘Step by step. I= ’m working to a very detailed plan with twenty thousand boxes to tick.’<= o:p>

‘How many so far= ?’

‘About a hundred= .’

‘Long list,̵= 7; I grumbled. ‘Are the answers in the back of the book?’=

Jimmy laughed. ‘= No, but I have taken the test before.’

‘So why mine clearance?’

‘Mine clearance = staff need medics on hand, in case they blow a limb off.’=

‘Ah … and = medics means those Rescue Force people you mentioned. Small acorns.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Small acorns, my lad, are easy to move … or to stop growing. The problem co= mes when they’re sixty feet tall!’

&nb= sp;    ‘Too late to do anything,’ I concluded.

Colonel Pointer, US Marines. (Retd)=

Colonel Thadius J. Pointer had star= ted his service life as a pilot in the Marines, serving with distinction in Vietnam, three tours. He progressed to be an instructor before becoming a t= est pilot for General Dynamics, for Northrop, and eventually for NASA. He was accepted into the space programme by NASA in 1976 but never got the chance = to fly into space, returning to test pilot work for a few years, in particular= the stealth bomber programmes. In 1982 he hung up his wings and became a consul= tant to the CIA, advising on spy plane tactics and operations, and continued to = act as consultant to the USAF on stealth matters. 1986 found Thadius working as= a part-time consultant to the CIA on remote drone spying.
Today’s trip to = the Pentagon was different, an urgent summons, something he had not encountered before. Since his work was in research, it was a tantalising intrigue that = had kept him awake the night before. He now knocked on the door of his principal contact, Air Force Colonel Summers.

&nb= sp;    ‘Thad, come on in,’ Summers urged, waving him forwards.

&nb= sp;    ‘Where’s the fire, Bob?’ Thad joked. ‘You need me for a mission that no young buck can handle?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Nothing so dramatic,’ Summers said as he literally man-handled Thad by the shoulders and into his own chair. He took a breath, stood at Thad’s elbow. ‘This is classified Top Secret.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ain’t it all?’ Thad baulked, a quick glance up.

&nb= sp;    Summers tapped a blue file on his desk. ‘I’ve got to be somewhere for t= wo hours. While I’m gone I want you to read the letters in this file = 211; they’ll explain themselves. At the end I want a conclusion, not least because you’re one of only a handful of men still serving who’ve touched upon a … certain topic.’ He grabbed his hat and left, his enigmatic smirk lingering in Thad’s mind.=

&nb= sp;    Thad opened the file, finding a typed letter, an odd signature at the bottom. ‘Magestic, the man in the … middle?’ With a heavy frown, = he read the first letter, the detail of a train derailment that would happen a= t a future date. ‘What in God’s name have they got me doing now?= 217;

&nb= sp;    The second letter detailed a terrorist attack in the Mid East, a warning of a f= ew months given. The third outlined the problems with a railway bridge that wo= uld collapse in a year or two.

&nb= sp;    ‘What…?’
&nb= sp;    The third letter detailed an Israeli spy working for the CIA.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Jesus.’

&nb= sp;    He flicked pages, stopping at the collapse of communism after the fall of the Berlin wall. It held his attention for many minutes as he read and re-read = it. Slowly, very slowly his face contorted in a surprised smile. ‘God damn … they did it. They actually … sons of bitches … did it.’

Summers returned with an expectant = look, sitting opposite a smug looking Thad.

&nb= sp;    Thad asked, ‘You got any whiskey in this place?’
&nb= sp;    With a huge smile, Colonel Summers opened a cabinet and retrieved two glasses an= d a bottle. ‘Special occasions.’ He poured out two drinks.

&nb= sp;    Thad took his glass and raised it. ‘Project Magestic.’

&nb= sp;    ‘To Magestic,’ Summers offered, the drinks downed. With his glass lowered, Summers asked, ‘Any doubts?’

&nb= sp;    ‘None.’ Thad was adamant. ‘There are key words and phrases in here that only those of us who worked on Magestic knew about. Hell, some of these phrases I made up myself! And the fact that he can predict the future...’ He ta= pped the file. ‘These letters were received ahead … of the ev= ents mentioned in it?’ Summers nodded. Thad added, ‘This letter about the end of communism…’

&= nbsp;    ‘Has already upset a few, who see it as a Russian trick.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah, that figures,’ Thad let out with a sigh.

&nb= sp;    ‘There’s something you don’t know about the letters, old friend. They were pos= ted in London, all of them. British Government has been getting letters.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘London?’ Thad repeated. He eased back and peered into his glass. ‘Would make sense, actually. We drew up scenarios of what would happen if someone just appeared out of time and knocked on the White House door. Best we could fig= ure they’d lock the guy up … forever!’

&nb= sp;    Summers suggested, ‘London is close enough, yet far enough away from us, and = if the British Government were to hide him…?’

&nb= sp;    Thad found himself nodding as he reflected on the abandoned old project, a proje= ct to look at the possibilities of time travel. ‘You know how it got that name? Some secretary here in the Pentagon spelt it wrong. We thought it was funny so we kept it. Because of the other Majestic project – the UFO misinformation project – we figured no one would ever find our project.’

&nb= sp;    They laughed in unison.

&nb= sp;    Thad explained, ‘We always figured that anyone going back in time would ha= ve to proceed carefully, or he’d upset the time line. We also knew that = too much information – too soon – would be a problem to the governm= ent of the sixties, or earlier. They may not have listened.’

&nb= sp;    Summers put in, ‘Imagine turning up in 1941 and warning of the Jap attack. You’d be shot as a loony!’

&nb= sp;    Thad lifted his eyebrows and nodded. ‘So it makes perfect sense. This guy = is hiding out and drip-feeding us what we need to know, Brits as well. Just ho= pe he looks both ways when he crosses the damn road.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘You sure we … sent him back through time?’=

&= nbsp;    ‘The evidence is all there, the manner of the warnings and the code phrases we thought up,’ Thad insisted.

&nb= sp;    ‘But what if … what if in fifty years or so time someone got access to tho= se old files and used them for a … grand deception?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Burn them! Today! If this is a deception based on those files then our friend wo= uld disappear in a puff of smoke, so too the letters, since they could never ha= ve been written in the first place.’

&nb= sp;    Summers smiled. ‘They were accidentally burnt a while back. We can’t fi= nd any record of them.’

&nb= sp;    ‘There you go then. No deception. And the end of communism? Hell, he ain’t working for their side, for sure. And time will prove it so.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Would he be under orders to report in, do you think?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Being under orders was something we considered. If he wanted to he could just sit back and bet the World Series, make a fortune and live the life. Who’d know? Guy is probably alone, so who’s going to stop him having a great life, eh? It was the one thing we considered a problem area: whoever got se= nt back would be alone, no backup, no return ticket. He’s an astronaut f= or sure, mental faculties strong enough to survive the trip and a moral compass big enough for the Titanic; no one else could be trusted. And I’m sur= e he will make contact in time.’ Thad tapped the file. ‘With = one letter a month for a few years he’s going to work up the credibility.= It shouldn’t be a problem after that.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You may even get the chance to debrief him,’ Summers suggested.

&nb= sp;    ‘Be an honour.’

‘So these phrases and stuff &= #8230; that you put into the letters to the Americans, that’s to make then t= hink you’re an astronaut … sent by the US Air Force?’ I queried with a worried frown.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘When I was in Canada I got access to all sorts of info, spok= e to some real old soldiers and CIA types. After a few beers they were more than happy to reminisce. And why not; fucking world had come to an end, America gone, so who cared?’

&nb= sp;    ‘So why’d you want the Americans to think that?’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘So they won’t want to shoot me. If they think I’m one of theirs it’ll keep them off my back for a while. Problem comes when I start telling them stuff that they won’t like – stuff about future American presidents and what they get up to.’

&nb= sp;    I shrugged. ‘What we doing tonight?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy also shrugged. ‘Curry, lap-dancers, nightclub?’

&nb= sp;    We set our moral compasses in the right direction.

A pineapple office

The new offices for Pineapple were rented, Jimmy suggesting that they would stay two years and then move on. T= hey were in a glass-fronted three-storey building in Putney, a view of the rive= r if you stood in a far corner.

&nb= sp;    ‘Like the motif,’ I told Oliver. ‘Where did you get the idea for that?’

&nb= sp;    Oliver laughed as I prodded a giant plastic pineapple hung from the ceiling. We stepped across the new open-plan offices, a dozen waist high cubicles spread out, a large square of sofas in the middle for would-be artists to chill out on. We settled in Oliver’s new office, closing a glass door whilst maintaining a view of the entire office through glass walls.

&nb= sp;    ‘How’s it going?’ Jimmy asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Six hits in four months – all top ten – and one number two,’ Oliver enthused. ‘Making very good money. You certainly seem to have = an ear for the hits.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Staff OK?’ Jimmy enquired.

&nb= sp;    ‘One left to go back to college, two new members, one off after a car accident.&= #8217;

&nb= sp;    ‘Up the pay five percent,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘We can afford it now.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Will do. On a side note, we had this arrive.’ Oliver handed Jimmy a letter. ‘It’s a formal offer to buy the business from an industry giant.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy handed it back after barely glancing at it. ‘In the years to come we’ll buy them. File it away.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Not looking to get rid of us already?’ I asked Oliver, but jokingly.=

&nb= sp;    ‘No, no. But had to let you know about it.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy said, ‘I think we should rent some recording studio space, get a good deal and get our people in there.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ve got someone in mind,’ Oliver said, rifling through files. ‘A go= od price if we block book it.’ He handed us the advertising flyer.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘Fine,’ Jimmy said. ‘Book a block and see how it goes. Then we need a marketi= ng manager.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Cathy is doing that with me –’

&nb= sp;    ‘We need a big hitter,’ Jimmy cut in with. ‘Someone flamboyant R= 30; who can spend his time travelling around the distributors. And I’m su= re that you don’t want to spend all day doing that.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Well … no.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And Cathy can act as deputy, office backup and appointment setter,’ Jimmy added.

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ll advertise the post, see what turns up.’ Oliver made a note on a pad.<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘And then we need a better relationship with a video company,’ Jimmy added. ‘As with the studios, get a good block deal for video shoots, start o= n a good working relationship.’

&nb= sp;    Oliver made another note.

&nb= sp;    ‘Don’t be afraid to spend money, or to ask for more. What we don’t want is to lose artists when they grow ... because we can’t support their growth.’

&= nbsp;    ‘That has been on my mind,’ Oliver admitted. ‘The big producers have = the clout to handle things like large concerts.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And so will we in time,’ Jimmy confidently suggested. ‘I’m transferring another million into the account, so use it.’=

Old dogs, new tricks

Two months after meeting Van Den Something, the U.N. man with the nice office, we were back in Nairobi with a purpose, Jimmy telexing our host a good three weeks notice of our pending arrival.

&nb= sp;    That first night we chilled out in the rooftop bar, all the staff remembering us, and I was starting to like the place; a cold beer at sunset was becoming a tradition for us. We met the keen Dutchman the next day, for lunch, a place around the corner from his offices, and presented a modest cheque towards a= ny charity the man liked. As expected, Van Den had arranged a trip to see the airfield near the border, vehicles booked for the next morning.<= /span>

&nb= sp;    We rose early, just about sunrise, and found a white UN jeep waiting outside t= he hotel, Van Den excited like a schoolboy on a fieldtrip. I was warned in adv= ance not to take the piss out his forename, or his wife. Turned out that Van Den Something was actually Rudd Van Den Something, pronounced ‘rude’= ;. His Kenyan wife was called ‘Virgin’, and I had to work hard at = keep my trap shut. We set off, my only comment being about the use of UN jeeps.<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    Van Den explained, more for the benefit of the UN driver, that such large benefactors were always treated well. At a roadside stop, to use the bathroom, he admitted that he had stretched the reason for the using vehicl= e in the paperwork, but was leaving in three months and didn’t give a crap= . We got back into the jeep as the sky turned dark, the heavens opening for a qu= ick downpour.

&nb= sp;    It took a good four hours to reach the airfield, what was left of it. The perimeter fence had just the lonely concrete poles remaining, a clothesline hung between two. I noticed what was left of a control tower, the glass missing, and a few single story buildings reminiscent of films about Second= World War prison camps. A modestly well-preserved hangar defied gravity and rust, stood proud in the distance, and some new low buildings formed the square i= nto which we now parked up. We were expected, three men walking out to greet us, squinting against the bright midday sun. Two were silver haired, one bald, = all appearing tanned and weather-beaten and in their late forties or early fift= ies.

&nb= sp;    ‘How’s ya doon?’ the first asked, a Scotsman.

&nb= sp;    Rudd introduced us, unsure of how to describe our occupations.=

&nb= sp;    Jimmy took charge, taking off his sunglasses and shaking their hands in turn. ‘Robin McPhearson - known as Mac, Booby Feet – known as Handy, = and Micky Hutches – known as Rabbit.’ The men were surprised, as was our host. Jimmy explained, ‘I checked you all out thoroughly. I like = to know who I’m dealing with.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ya get a letter from my mum?’ Mac testily enquired, glancing at his colleagues.

&nb= sp;    ‘You never knew your parents, Mac, so no.’ Mac did not look pleased. ̵= 6;I got a note from The Regiment, which recommended all three of you – although I was warned that you never like to pay for a round.’

&nb= sp;    The men laughed, the ice broken.

&nb= sp;    ‘Come on inside, out the heat,’ Mac urged, leading us into a hut. ‘We’s got us some cold ones … courtesy of the UN.’<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    We cracked open cans of chilled lager, sat on threadbare chairs arranged in a circle.

&nb= sp;    The walls of this windowless hut were adorned with various badges, medals, and = unit emblems, a few pictures of aircraft, of helicopters and of weapons, a few technical posters in Chinese detailing mines and grenades. Other than the military décor, there was little of anything else in the hut; a makeshift half-moon bar and a fridge that loudly protested its lack of maintenance.

&nb= sp;    ‘So,’ Mac began, the obvious group leader. ‘You’s some sort of city s= licker with a few quid to spend.’

&nb= sp;    ‘We’re very rich stockbrokers … and yes, we have a few quid to spend,’ Jimmy explained. ‘We’ve taken over an orphanage down here, and I’ll be buying a hotel on the coast.’ The men glanced at each other, clearly unsure about us. ‘At the orphanage there are a few kids with missing limbs –’

&nb= sp;    ‘Mines,’ Mac cut in with.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes. I understand there are a lot of kids in Africa like that.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Around here they don’t clean up after a wee battle, they leave it for the ki= ds ta find,’ Mac stated, some anger in his voice. ‘Have a few three legged cattle around here too.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And you guys teach mine clearance,’ Jimmy prompted.

&nb= sp;    ‘When the funding is there,’ Rabbit put in. ‘Rude Boy here–R= 17; I tried not to smile. ‘- gets us what contracts he can. Man has three kids, but his wife’s a Virgin!’

&nb= sp;    We laughed, the bastard stealing my joke.

&nb= sp;    ‘From now on you’ll be fully funded,’ Jimmy suggested.

&nb= sp;    The men straightened in their seats, glances exchanged.

&nb= sp;    ‘To do what … exactly, big fella?’ Mac delicately enquired.

&nb= sp;    ‘To set-up a training school right here, well equipped and well funded. To train Africans in mine clearance, as well as others I’ll send down – medics and doctors.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Doctors?’ Mac challenged, his surprise evident.

&nb= sp;    ‘I read an article about a doctor who had his leg blown off,’ Jimmy explained. ‘He was working in a remote village - didn’t know wh= at to look out for. Another was handed a grenade by a kid - and blew himself u= p. If medics are going to work in remote locations … then they need awareness training, and they need to know what to do if they wander into the wrong field.’

&nb= sp;    The old dogs exchanged looks, nodding in approval.

&nb= sp;    ‘Well … aye,’ Mac conceded.

&nb= sp;    ‘And the UN –’ Jimmy gestured towards a keenly attentive, yet quiet = Rude Boy. ‘- will want medics close at hand when people are clearing mines, for when they make mistakes.’

&nb= sp;    Rude Boy nodded. ‘Yah, yah.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy put on his superior voice. ‘So this is what I would like: new buildin= gs, new fence, some classrooms, a nice big sand pit to put fake mines in and practice, plenty of mine clearing equipment – the latest kit.’<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘I can get that,’ Rude Boy keenly offered. ‘No cost.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy gestured towards him, but addressed the Old Dogs. ‘And how will you gentlemen feel about having Rudd as your administrator?’

&nb= sp;    Rudd straightened.

&nb= sp;    ‘Fine,’ Mac answered with a shrug. ‘Been working with the lad for years.̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    ‘I see a clear division of labour here,’ Jimmy explained. ‘Rudd does the managing, you= get a tan outside – doing the training. He sharpens the pencils and keeps t= he lights on, you crawl around the sandbox.’

We waited. The men wer= e in approval, not least because they could not have even afforded a plane ticket home. We wandered back out into the heat and flies, the existing sandbox pointed out, a few dummy mines retrieved and keenly explained; if you stood= on one it went bang, but you didn’t lose your leg. The runway was still operable, the odd aircraft making a forced landing from time to time, scattering the goats of the local farmers and scaring the odd camel. Water = came from a well, and food was either bought local or grown, Rabbit quite the gardener. No lettuce growing in his patch, wrong climate altogether - I ask= ed.

The outlying areas, surrounding the base, were a contrast. Along the road we used to access the base the locals were living in huts, a few trees for shade and the odd fiel= d of produce. The far side, across the runway, levelled off to a desert-like exp= anse of nothingness. I put a hand over my eyes and peered through the shimmering heat to see if Lawrence of Arabia was heading towards us on a camel. I saw = only a local woman balancing a large silver container on her head.

‘How far to the border?’ I asked Rabbit, conscious of what Jimmy had said about Somal= ia.

‘Not far, laddy.= Thirty miles or so.’

‘Any trouble?= 217;

‘With the Somali= s? No, they’s a proud people.’

I figured I’d be= st not reveal the future. Away from the others, I asked Jimmy if it was wise to be this close to the border.

He grinned. ‘If there’s trouble here, it’ll justify a security detail under our control – paid and trained by us.’ I waited. ‘That group = will be the forerunner to an army I’ll raise.’

‘Our own Army? T= idy. What’ll the Kenyans say?’

‘They’ll b= e happy for the help to patrol this border. Ten years from now this’ll be = war zone central.’

We gave the three old = dogs twenty thousand dollars, informing Rude Boy that he had a job any time he wanted it, although it would involve a great deal of travel. He planned on coming out on a Monday and going back each Friday to start with. It sounded like a plan.

&nb= sp;    The Old Dogs, as they were now referred to openly, had three months to get read= y, twenty thousand dollars going a long way in that part of Kenya in the 1980s= . We had given Rudd another ten thousand towards a jeep for himself, and for any= start-up expenses, for a computer and a fax line at home. Rudd would also have to ta= ckle the Kenyan Government and the red tape, I figured, till Jimmy explained why not.

&nb= sp;    The Old Dogs held onto a license, had done for ten years or more, so we –= as the new sponsors – did not need one. Rudd was also on good terms with= all the relevant people and so a process that could have dragged on for years w= ould require no further thought.

A sandbox in the desert<= /span>

Two months later, as we arrived bac= k at the airfield, originally called RAF Mawlini by the British in 1956, we noti= ced that the place was now a hive of activity. The fence and front gate had been fixed, at least the gate and ten sections of fence either side had been fix= ed. Anyone wanting to get inside would be surely disheartened by having to walk= a hundred metres around the completed sections. I would sleep well at night knowing that.

&nb= sp;    We passed through the imposing front gate, a look exchanged with Jimmy, gettin= g a salute from a local teen manning his post. At least he had a military hat o= n. Scrub had been cleared and fires were still burning to reduce the dried shr= ubs. The old air traffic control building had a lick of paint and some new windo= ws, a few signs fixed to the wall: Ablutions, NAAFI, HQ Block. I guessed the old dogs were feeling nostalgic. That or they did it one night when drunk. Rabbit’s cabbage patch was now ten times larger, a rusted water truck parked at the edge and slowly dripping, a brown puddle being lapped at by goats. There were more camels than I had noted before, locals driving sheep across the dusty runway.

&nb= sp;    Mac stopped us with a hand. We jumped down as he said, ‘Up the control to= wer, lads. You can see the lot from there.’

&nb= sp;    We followed him into the building, the cool interior being decorated by a local man, his young son asleep on the floor below him. On the roof of the control tower we caught a cooling breeze, stood now in the shade of the tower’= ;s overhanging structure.

&nb= sp;    ‘Gate’s done,’ I prompted.

&nb= sp;    ‘Aye, but only so much fencing. We’s awaiting on the rest.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And a bigger vegetable patch,’ I noted, peering down at it.

&nb= sp;    ‘Aye, food around here is limited, so you grow your own where you can.’

&nb= sp;    ‘That the sandbox?’ Jimmy asked, pointing into the distance at a section of sand fifty yards square and taped into smaller quadrants.=

&nb= sp;    ‘Aye, twelve inches deep and plenty a room for ten or so lads in there.’ He pointed at the hangar. ‘Side of the hangar - we’s building classrooms, in the shade of the big bloody thing.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Those yours?’ Jimmy enquired, pointing at two old Land Rovers. <= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘To fetch people from the nearest train stop, fetch supplies. They wus cheap.’

&nb= sp;    The convoy that had been following us now arrived, having stopped to cool a radiator or two.

&nb= sp;    ‘Who’s that?’ Mac asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Help,’ Jimmy informed him.

&nb= sp;    Rudd led the convoy in a UN jeep that he had borrowed, kind of permanently, anot= her jeep and three lorries following him past the diligent teen at the gate, who now saluted each truck.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained, ‘Wood, wooden panels, pitch for the roof, wire, some chick= en wire, generator, another fridge, tins of food, blackboards, chalk, hammers = and nails, saws. And fifty chicks.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Chicks?’ Mac repeated.

&nb= sp;    ‘They grow up into chickens,’ I pointed out. ‘Brought two cocks as well.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy gave me a look.

&nb= sp;    ‘Fuck me, you don’t hang about,’ Mac let out, a hand over his eyes as= we watched the convoy park up and start unloading, a wave towards us from Rudd= .

&nb= sp;    On the way down from the roof, the painter’s son was complaining of paint flecks on his head.

&nb= sp;    ‘Don’t grumble,’ I said. ‘If you were in our orphanage we’d put = you in a blue dress.’

The next day, three self-assembly portakabins arrived as ordered, albeit a day late. For Kenya, that was ahead of schedule by a week. Packed onto the trucks were also seve= ral “liberated” large tents, “UN” stencilled on the top= and sides. Well, it gave the operation an air of authority and credibility.

&nb= sp;    When the circus-sized tents were up we stepped inside, finding room enough for f= ifty people. Camp beds were laid out, twenty of them, for the recruits to sleep = on; this was a residential course. The dirt was swept, weeds pulled up, snake h= oles blocked. The floor was ready, the goats grateful of the shade. With a flurr= y of activity over the next three days, we got the place ready. In reality, we dragged it from 1956 to around 1970. It was basic, but functional.

&nb= sp;    With the money we gave Rudd he would pay the government, and they in turn would = pay twenty local recruits, as had been done previously when Rudd was official; about five dollars a day each for the men. And Rude Boy, he may have neglec= ted to tell the government that he had stopped working for the UN – and nicked their tents. The recruits slept in the tents, not at all fussed by t= he conditions, and ate well, meals served in one of the portakabins. The classrooms in the shade of the hangar were cool all day, and the sandbox got plenty of use, a puff of sand followed a second later by an echo off the ha= ngar scaring the camels every thirty minutes or so.

&nb= sp;    ‘If those trainees were in a real mine field … they’d be fucking mincemeat by now,’ I told Jimmy.

&nb= sp;    The three Old Dogs now had new green khaki shorts and shirts, and strode around with clipboards barking instructions. For much of the time, Jimmy and me sa= t on the control tower roof on deckchairs, sipping cold beers and watching the activity, till Friday morning came, time to drive back with Rudd to his Vir= gin wife. We left to dull echoes scaring the camels.

A hurricane, a Chinaman and a bubbl= e

In the weeks leading up to October = 1987 we sold all of our stock, ready for a big market crash. I had no doubt about Jimmy’s prediction, but I had never seen such a crash, none of the current generation of traders had, and all the experts were predicting a go= od end to the year on the British FTSE index.

&nb= sp;    We had advised Wang Po to sell all his stocks and bet the down side, our man in Hong Kong trusting every detail we gave him and making a fortune in the process. For the big show, Jimmy invited him over. Wang Po booked into the Hilton up the road and we met his party for a meal at a Chinese restaurant = that his family owned. He could have told us before. Still, he made it clear to = the staff that we were always to get the best table – no waiting – = and never to pay. Fair enough.

&nb= sp;    We ate, drank, and laughed to the small hours, meeting at noon the next day at= the apartment for a planning session. Wang Po had brought two bodyguards, not trusting London much. They were settled into the kitchen, given newspapers = and left to their own devices.

&nb= sp;    Po understood the basics of buying index options, a bet on the market falling,= but did not fully understand, nor trust, derivatives. Just as well that Jimmy h= ad it all written down for him, the optimum series and price to select. Po rang his broker back in Hong Kong to place a few trades, but had also transferre= d a million pounds to HSBC London, opening a dozen accounts here - as we had advised him to. Soon, he was carefully placing orders down our phone, readi= ng the script Jimmy had prepared and given to him. It took an hour. With the business taken care of from the comfort of our lounge, we sat behind the screens and watched coloured stocks ticking over, Po now keen to get a live link for his own office. Today was Tuesday, and Jimmy came out with strange suggestion.

&nb= sp;    ‘Weather forecast says it’ll be very bad weather for Thursday and Friday, so there’ll probably be many stockbrokers not able to get into work. If = this coincides with a crash on the American markets it’ll be all the worse here. I think Friday will be the day, British market makers deliberately crashing the stock to make themselves some money.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    Po was fascinated by how the market makers worked, how they set prices –= and how they forced prices up and down artificially. I, on the other hand, was fascinated by the weather forecast, since the news had not indicated that t= here was particularly bad weather due to us. I figured Jimmy had a good memory, = but to remember detail like that surprised me.

&nb= sp;    Po spent Wednesday shopping with his daughters, their first trip to London, but Jimmy was surprisingly quiet. Thursday at noon, we met up as the weather worsened rapidly. Soon the tickers were all red on thin volume traded. It h= ad begun.

&nb= sp;    Po was fascinated, quoting and re-quoting figures, and at 3.30pm Jimmy called McKinleys. Unknown to me he had made his feelings known to them about the c= rash and, for the most part, they had taken his advice. They had not, however, recommended to their clients that they sell their stocks. Instead, they had= bet the down side in a modest way, enough to protect exposed positions - and ma= ke a few quid on top. I was to learn later that Jimmy’s advice saved the f= irm from certain bankruptcy, elevating Jimmy to Godlike status with them.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    Placing the phone down, Jimmy faced us. ‘They can see it in the market, lots = of rumours. Something big is up.’

&nb= sp;    By close of play the market was down, but not crashing, the DOW sliding modest= ly. We ordered in from Po’s family restaurant, Po not wishing to miss a b= eat as he watched the DOW slide. We munched away, mostly without Po, as his fascination with our software grew. When our bellies were full the DOW was = down over a hundred points, the move now significant. Po’s Hong Kong broker called to say that the Asian markets were down significantly, following the= DOW south. With the close of the DOW, Jimmy reconfigured the software and we ga= ined a live feed of the Asian markets. The spare room was already made up, Po wanting to stay put. A bodyguard was sent back for some clothes and personal effects, the second bodyguard offered Jimmy’s bed.<= /p>
&nb= sp;    Our explanation of Jimmy’s lack of sleep worried Po greatly, who offered acupuncture, green tea, and everything short of Tiger’s Penis to cure= it. Jimmy explained it away as a benefit, since he could read many financial reports overnight. Still, our guest was concerned for Jimmy’s welfare= .

&nb= sp;    I went to bed, being a mere mortal, Po catching an hour or two as Jimmy kept = an eye of the Asian markets. At 7am the Hang Seng Index was down significantly, but not crashing by any means. Jimmy woke Po and me at nine o’clock, = the UK market sliding from the start. The morning news was on, reporting the st= orm and the closed railway lines around London.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy pointed at the TV screen. ‘Most people won’t be at work in the = city today, they can’t get in.’

&nb= sp;    Po was amazed, but I was concerned. And even the bodyguards were watching the screens, discussing the moves, their boss explaining some of the detail. Af= ter all, the men turned out to be family. It was mesmerizing, especially when y= ou remembered how much money we had placed to bet the down side. And the FTSE = was already below the point where McKinleys made a few quid. Their head trader = had walked in to work, he didn’t live far, and had called Jimmy – no doubt with a huge grin. When off the phone, Jimmy explained that McKinleys = had left all their phones off the hook – none of their customers could se= ll.

&nb= sp;    By four o’clock we were the best part of a million pounds better off, Ji= mmy keeping the trades small so that the regulators wouldn’t notice us on their radar. Po had bet over two million pounds, and on more leveraged positions than us, and was now sitting on a five million pound profit. Jimmy stopped Po calling his broker, explaining that now the slide had begun it w= ould be bigger on Monday. Well, Po was stunned into silence, his staff worried f= or him.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not sell?’ he repeated many times. ‘More big fall?’

&nb= sp;    Two people I had never heard of rang, sounding very pleased with themselves, as= king for Jimmy.

&nb= sp;    ‘Hold till Wednesday,’ Jimmy had told them. ‘Besides, you won’t= get through to any UK broker till then. Relax.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Relax?’ I repeated, Po so quiet that he worried me. The little Chinaman was sitting= on around ten million quid in profit, not to mention what he saved from selling his stock portfolio in time. It was fair to say we’d never pay for a = meal in that restaurant again.

&nb= sp;    With the close of the UK market, we watched the DOW as it slid further, finishing well down. This was now officially a crash - and creating news headlines. J= immy told Po to have a relaxing weekend – not much chance of that – = and sent him packing, politely but firmly, a place on our sofa booked in for hi= m at 8am Monday morning. With big hugs and a million thanks issued we keenly pus= hed him out of the door.

&nb= sp;    ‘Fuck, I’m knackered,’ I let out, slouching down. ‘It’s li= ke being back at the firm.’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy eased down. ‘Po will reward us well next week, so too a few others I persuaded. So next month we can spend some money.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Medical Genetics?’ I asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘No, need to make a start on a few other things in Kenya. We’ll use the mo= ney quickly enough.’

&nb= sp;    ‘We out tonight?’ I asked with a yawn.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not in this weather. Besides, they’ll be fuck all people about. Get some rest, watch the TV.’ He stood. ‘I’m going to change the sheets and get an hour or two.’

&nb= sp;    ‘How long can you go? Without sleep?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Five days at least, but then I get cranky and my co-ordination goes wobbly. I on= ce did a whole month at one hour a night, but felt like shit and slept for twe= nty hours in a single stretch. Four hours is the optimum, more than that and I = get a headache. Anyway, we just passed a significant milestone; now we have the money to start Rescue Force, or at least its predecessor.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s as if you’re working to a plan,’ I joked as he headed for his bedroom.

Sat there alone, vario= us odd feelings surfaced, something odd about the exactness of the plan and the st= orm outside. Hell, he’d always been mysterious. I cracked open a can and watched the news about today’s action.

After a lazy weekend, Po turned up = early, the little bugger ringing the bell at 7am. Jimmy was already up and welcomed the gang in, the two daughters accompanying, and the commotion woke me.

&nb= sp;    ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I yawned, still in my pants.

&nb= sp;    The two girls giggled as I slammed my bedroom door, needing another hour; I was= not fully cooked.

&nb= sp;    I joined them at 8.30am; showered, awake and smartly dressed. The girls were still giggly, and looking even more gorgeous than the first time I had set = eyes on them. ‘Morning all,’ I said with a bow, the bodyguards smirk= ing, and headed to the kitchen for breakfast and several coffees. The girls join= ed me, sat staring with fixed grins. By time I joined Po and Jimmy the FTSE was again sliding heavily, as predicted. An hour later we had a coffee, and a conference around the aptly named coffee table.

&nb= sp;    ‘No more trades for four weeks at least,’ Jimmy informed us. ‘No go= od short term trades for three months at least.’ We were both surprised. Jimmy explained, ‘The market will be volatile, staying low and then recovering in three months. Now is a good time for investments, one or two years.’ He offered to give Po a list, gratefully acknowledged. Problem was, Po liked to be active and to trade.

&nb= sp;    ‘Discipline, like me,’ Jimmy firmly pressed. ‘Make money when the time is right.’

&nb= sp;    Po accepted the advice, planning on selling some options on Wednesday, some la= ter. What we didn’t know at the time was that he had already sold some via= the Asian exchanges and was sitting on a tidy profit. His extended family, havi= ng sold all of their stocks in advance of the crash, were now gleefully buying them back for a quarter of their former price. The name ‘Jimmy Silo’ was starting to spread.

&nb= sp;    When Po got around to promising Jimmy some money, ‘Jimly’ stopped him dead.

&nb= sp;    ‘There will be a charity that I wish to start in Hong Kong in a few years time,= 217; Jimmy explained. ‘I would like you to put any money that you would li= ke to give us into that charity, so that when we are ready it is there to use.’

&nb= sp;    We were ‘vely’ strange men, but most respected, Po said, swearing = that he would itemise it and send statements. Fair enough, we knew where it was.= By end of play the FTSE had plummeted, Po and Jimmy far richer than the week before, a few stockbrokers biting the dust, but none of ours. Jimmy explain= ed to Po that the excitement was over and now we could relax, dinner at the restaurant arranged.

&nb= sp;    Keeping my hands off his two daughters was the hardest thing I ever did, especially after a drink, but I also desperately wanted to keep my hands attached to my arms.

Stepping up a gear

Jack Donohue read the letter with a hidden grin.

Sorry for not warning you about = the market crash, but it was necessary that I use the opportunity to tip off a = few people I know, so that they could make some money. A good percentage of that money has now been earmarked for several charities, here and abroad.=

      Since the c= rash did not affect UK politics and no one was hurt - I hope you understand my reasoning.

      And I hope = you took my advice about the Fastnet Yacht Race.

When finished, he raised his head t= o the assembled COBRA meeting.

&nb= sp;    ‘Opinion?’ the Prime Minister asked.

&nb= sp;    Jack said, ‘As he says, nothing political or deadly about the market crash and, more importantly, would the Government have taken any action?’

&nb= sp;    ‘It would have been nice to have the option, I suppose,’ the P.M. comment= ed.

&nb= sp;    ‘Is he drifting towards financial motivation?’ the MI5 representative ask= ed.

&nb= sp;    Jack put in, ‘He could do so without letting us know, and by now would be = the richest man in the UK.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Fair point,’ the same man conceded.

&nb= sp;    The P.M. opened a file and handed the letter to Jack. ‘This … we ha= ve not shown you yet.’

Jack scanned the lette= r. ‘Bloody hell.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Quite,’ the P.M. agreed.

PM, a Mid East terrorist group is well advanced in their planning of a spectacu= lar hijacking in the years ahead. They have selected twenty young men, mostly f= or their clean passports, and are giving the selected men flying lessons. Their aim is simple in its audacity.

      They aim to highjack several aircraft at the same time, ideally 747s with full manifest= s, and to fly these aircraft to Western capitals. There, they will kill the cr= ew, take their places and crash the planes into built-up areas, principally city centres.

=       Try, if you will, to imagine half a dozen 747s crashing into London; Buckingham Palace, Westminster or Oxford Circus.

      The solution comes in two parts. First, and quite straightforward, you must reinforce cockpit doors, provide inside locks only and perhaps a peephole.=

      Second, and= more difficult, you must instruct pilots never to give up the cockpit, even if c= abin crew are threatened or killed. Since giving up the cockpit will, most certainly, result in everyone in the aircraft being killed – and hund= reds on the ground being killed - the pilots must sacrifice the passengers and c= abin staff and land the aircraft, disabling it.

‘So,’ the P.M. began. ‘Opinions?’

&nb= sp;    ‘It would be devastating -’

&nb= sp;    ‘The biggest single loss of life -’

&nb= sp;    ‘We must act –’

&nb= sp;    The P.M. nodded. ‘Set up a working group to review aircraft security procedures with this in mind. We do, apparently, have a few years at least.’

The next meeting, held three weeks = later, had a different tone altogether.

&nb= sp;    Jack read the letter quickly, but twice. ‘Dear God.’

&nb= sp;    The P.M. stated, ‘Given the nature of this … I have decided to join forces with the Americans. Jack, you’ll get a liaison at some point. = As to the subject matter of this latest letter … well, we can all hope it’s true.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ma’am, he’s never been wrong up to now,’ Jack pointed out.<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘That may be, but this is … incredible. The end of communism?’

&nb= sp;    Sykes put in, ‘We’re seeing a rapid increase in dissent right across = the Warsaw Pack countries, particularly the GDR.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Dissent in those countries is not the issue, it’s what Moscow would do in response,’ the P.M. pointed out. ‘That ... has always been the issue. And a re-unification of Germany could seriously destabilise that cou= ntry – and our bases within it. There’s also the consideration of a unified Germany – which way they would lean?’=

&nb= sp;

Two weeks later, Jack got his liais= on, Colonel Thadius Pointer. He met the tough-looking white haired man in a hot= el bar, all very ‘cloak and dagger’. Not to mention great fun being out of the office.

&nb= sp;    They shook. ‘Jack Donohue.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Thad Pointer, Colonel. Retired.’ They sat.

&nb= sp;    ‘Air Force?’ Jack enquired.

&nb= sp;    ‘Marines.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Vietnam?’

&nb= sp;    Thad nodded before ordering a drink from a waiter. ‘You?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Just a pen pusher. Psychology. So, how did you go from an honest living … = to this?’

&nb= sp;    Thad laughed. ‘Jets, NASA, spy planes, CIA, desk work. I even worked on the original Majestic project – that’s why I got called back for this.’

&nb= sp;    ‘You think there’s a link?’ Jack broached.

&nb= sp;    ‘Not really. Your guy is the real thing, we never found anyone with any real pow= ers. Sure, they drew pictures of places they’d never been, but not much else.’

&nb= sp;    ‘If I may be so bold … does Uncle Sam think that Magestic is on the le= vel, as you say?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sure, everything pans out so far.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And the end of communism?’

&nb= sp;    Thad raised his eyebrows. ‘What you have to keep in mind, is that some rich and powerful folks back home don’t really want an end to communism: they’re making a buck selling tanks to the Army, planes to the Air Force.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So, they choose not to believe it,’ Jack stated with a disappointed tone.

&= nbsp;    Thad shrugged. ‘Politics.’

&nb= sp;    ‘There’s no need to swear.’ They laughed. ‘May I enquire,’ Jack delicately began, ‘if your side are trying to find him?’

&nb= sp;    ‘If they are, they haven’t told me,’ Thad suggested. ‘Are = you looking for him?’

&nb= sp;    ‘In a small way. They check for fingerprints, where the letters were posted = 211; that sort of thing. But I don’t think our friend is the sloppy type.’

&nb= sp;    ‘No, he sure isn’t,’ Thad agreed, Jack puzzling that statement.=

&nb= sp;    ‘So, do you think he’s British, or an American living here?’ Jack as= ked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Oh, British for sure - linguists say so.’

&nb= sp;

An hour later Jack was stood before= the Prime Minister.

&nb= sp;    ‘Well?’ the P.M. asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Lying through his teeth, Ma’am.’

&nb= sp;    The P.M. reflected on that statement. ‘Pity. Still, we must co-operate on NATO matters.’ She retrieved the latest Magestic letter. ‘Guess we’d better not show this to anyone.’

PM, you will soon have an American Liaison, a Colonel Thad Pointer, US Marines, Retired. He worked on the original 1960’s Magestic project (experimen= tal time travel).

      The America= ns, having analysed the letters, fully believe me to be an astronaut, sent back through time to assist the US to dominate the world in the decades ahead. T= hey believe this because it allows them their pride, and who else might build s= uch a thing as a time machine but NASA? You might consider that the CIA have us= ed this story to make it easier for them to present my story to the White Hous= e. A British clairvoyant would be mistrusted.

=       Your servant, Magestic.

      P.S. I get vertigo if up too high. Still, as a child I liked the idea of being an astronaut. So, in some small way, I have achieved new heights in the eyes of some.

‘Astronaut,’ the P.M. repeated. ‘Where do the Americans get these ideas?’ She handed = Jack the letter. ‘File that somewhere where no one else will see it.’= ;

&= nbsp;    ‘Yes, Prime Minister.’

The first medics<= /p>

Back in Nairobi, in mid November, w= e met up with Rudd. As Jimmy had requested, Rudd had advertised for a Kenyan doct= or to provide medical cover at the airfield and to teach first aid. At our lun= ch meeting, Rudd handed over a shortlist of candidates that he had also faxed = to us the week before. Jimmy ran an eye over the list and selected the man he wan= ted, named Adam, the perplexed Rudd delicately enquiring as to how he knew which= man to employ.

&nb= sp;    ‘I know people down here who can check backgrounds,’ Jimmy explained. ‘I want to meet him as soon as possible.’

&nb= sp;    ‘He’s here in Nairobi, looking for work, staying with a brother. He has been doin= g UN rotating contracts – which, I guess, you know…’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘Call him, please. Bring him here.’
&nb= sp;    Rudd interrupted his lunch to make a quick call. After lunch, we retired to the = bar area and waited, the dark-skinned and portly medic appearing in little more than half a pint’s waiting time, recognising Rudd and striding over. = We stood. Jimmy greeted the large man in his native dialect, shocking the medi= c. They clasped hands.

&nb= sp;    ‘You know my region?’ Adam asked in a deep baritone voice.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes,’ Jimmy acknowledged. ‘I am … a well-travelled man. Please, have a seat.’

&nb= sp;    We sat back down, Jimmy ordering fresh drinks from a hovering waiter, a black = tea purposefully selected for the medic – again surprising the man.<= /o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘So, Adam, you have finished with your contract?’ Jimmy began.<= /span>

&nb= sp;    Adam nodded. ‘Yes, a month ago. I was in Zaire.’
&nb= sp;    ‘And has Rudd indicated what type of work we need you for?’

&nb= sp;    Again Adam nodded. ‘Teaching the young men about medicine, and being the ba= se doctor for emergencies.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s not much of a base at the moment, but will grow over the years,’ Jimmy explained. ‘Each year more and more recruits will attend training the= re. When there are no courses you can come back here to Nairobi, you’ll s= till be paid. Next year I want you to start a training programme for field medic= s, people who can – like you – go to Zaire and other places and provide basic medical help.’

&nb= sp;    Adam straightened. ‘This will be a permanent position?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, Adam. You were on eleven thousand dollars for the UN. We will pay fifteen thousand - and travel costs.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    I put in, ‘We’ll even give you your own allotment.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Allot – ment?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained, ‘At the base, at the airfield, the men grow their own food.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Ah, yes. I like the gardening. I have the green fingers.’ He didn’t= , I looked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Can you start in a few days?’ Jimmy asked.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, yes, I am available now.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Then pack a bag, and we’ll take you out to the base tomorrow,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘You can come back with Rudd every weekend.’

&nb= sp;    We stood again, shook, and arranged to meet at our hotel the next morning. Reclaiming our seats, Jimmy handed over a document and chequebook to Rudd.<= o:p>

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ve opened an account for our operations … in a local bank. Later, we’ll pop along and they can meet you and get your signature for cheques.’

&nb= sp;    Rudd held a finger to the detail of the document with a heavy frown. ‘This says that there is … two hundred and fifty thousand pounds in it?R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘That’s correct,’ Jimmy casually explained. ‘From now on we’ll st= art to increase what we do. Once Adam has seen the base I want a small clinic b= uilt across the road from the base, for the locals. I want it well equipped, sta= ffed with a local nurse – and a jeep for them to do house calls with.̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    The stunned Dutchman nodded. ‘With this much money you could build a hospital!’

&nb= sp;    ‘There are other things I need you to do as well,’ Jimmy explained. He sipped his beer. ‘Find a local lawyer we can use, someone good. I’ll be buying a hotel on the coast.’

The next morning we set-off early, = before the day warmed up, and headed north. At the local town for the base we halt= ed, a dusty and dirty place, Jimmy dropping off Rudd with a shopping list and expecting him to get a taxi the remaining nine miles to the base. We contin= ued on, passing one of the Old Dogs’ green Land Rovers as we progressed. = The fence had grown another ten sections and I was surprised to find an armed police officer on the gate, another in a small watchtower.

&nb= sp;    Mac greeted us with, ‘Back again?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Someone has to keep an eye on you,’ Jimmy retorted. He introduced Adam. ‘This is your new doctor.’ They shook hands. ‘He’s = been in Zaire, doing field work for the UN.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Got some of your tents over there,’ Mac said, pointing out the large UN tents.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy faced me and said, ‘Show Adam around, would you?’

&nb= sp;    I did my bit, leading Adam away as Mac and Jimmy chatted. After a meandering half-hour stroll around the base we climbed the stairs to the control tower roof, in need of a cool drink. Since the roof now offered an outdoor fridge= - all wired up, we were in the right spot. I fetched two cans, one each for me and Doc Adam, Jimmy and Mac already supping theirs as they sat in deckchair= s.

&nb= sp;    I eased down. ‘What’s with the local police?’

&nb= sp;    Mac explained, ‘We pay the local police chief, he takes his cut and pays = the lads. They get a better deal than the town, better food and drink with us. = They stop the locals nicking stuff, or they’d have the buildings away.R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘Where’s the new clinic going to be?’ I idly enquired.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy pointed to an abandoned mud hut, over the road from the main gate. ‘R= ight there. Doc will be close enough to provide medical cover here.’ Adam = took a keen interest, Jimmy facing him. ‘Before it’s built, your off= ice will be below us. It’s the best room - and we can lock it.’ Fac= ing Mac, he said, ‘Double the length of your courses, pad it out with comprehensive first aid from the Doc.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Sure.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And I’d like you to start to introduce an all-weapons course, get them ma= king safe every kind of weapon and ordnance you can think off.’=

&nb= sp;    ‘Be a three month course,R= 17; Mac cautioned.

&nb= sp;    ‘That’s OK, it’ll keep you out of the local bars. I’d like a tank or tw= o, fifty cals – mounted, AKs, the works. When they leave here they shoul= d be able tackle any ordnance they find. Then you can start a demolition school.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Have to be way over there,’ Mac pointed. ‘But we’ve already a license for demolition.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Build a few sunken bunkers for the plastic explosives, and get that fucking fence finished.’

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ll have to drive down ta the city and fetch some, locals are useless,’ M= ac complained.

&nb= sp;    ‘My brother, Seth, in is construction,’ Adam put in, swiping away flies. ‘He has fenced many football grounds.’

&nb= sp;    ‘There you go,’ Jimmy told Mac. ‘Get Rudd to meet his brother and buy = some fencing - I’ve given Rudd a bank account.’

&nb= sp;    Two trucks trundled noisily closer, checked by the police at the gate and allow= ed in. Rudd had dragged the local merchant along with more supplies.

&nb= sp;    ‘Looks like cement bags,’ I suggested. ‘Got any sand, Mac?’=

&nb= sp;    ‘I’ll check with Stores,’ Mac retorted.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy told Mac, ‘There’ll be a shit load of cement, so get the traine= es doing a few hours a day, give them a few quid. Have a go at the airfield, f= ill in any small holes.’

&nb= sp;    Mac turned his head. ‘You planning on using it?’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘Of course; be flying people in an out,’ Jimmy explained. ‘When we’ve got some recruits worth a damn we’ll hire them out to the= UN, fly them into Mozambique and other places. Whenever that is … = is up to you. We need people who can disarm anything, medically trained and switched on.’

&nb= sp;    Mac carefully observed Jimmy. ‘You sure you’re not ex-military?R= 17;

As we sat there, relaxing, the lorry’s cargo was slowly unloaded by a local who needed a rest after = each bag of cement.

&nb= sp;    ‘C’mon,’ Jimmy called. ‘Let’s unload the trucks.’ He took off his shirt, surprising the locals and Mac alike, before grabbing two bags at a t= ime, placing them in a pile. We all took one, trying to keep up with him.

&nb= sp;    ‘Jimbo works out, eh?’ Mac puffed out as we progressed.

&nb= sp;    A man came running; a recruit in a uniform blue shirt. ‘Doctor man, doc= tor man!’

&nb= sp;    Adam reached for his bag and we all followed at the jog, into one of the smaller tents. What greeted us was a recruit sprawled out on a bed and appearing qu= ite dead, his leg swollen to twice the normal size, his skin splitting. It turn= ed my stomach.

&nb= sp;    ‘Snake bite,’ Adam said as he knelt down.

&nb= sp;    ‘Serum?’ Jimmy asked Mac.

&nb= sp;    Mac shook his head.

&nb= sp;    ‘In the town,’ Adam hurriedly suggested. ‘He may have an hour.̵= 7;

&nb= sp;    Jimmy sent Mac, telling the recruits to fetch water and make a fire.

&nb= sp;    Adam checked the man’s vitals. ‘He will not live much longer.’=

&nb= sp;    I made eye contact with Jimmy and pointed at the leg. ‘Could … you?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes,’ he softly admitted. ‘But it’s a risk, at this time.’=

&nb= sp;    Adam was not following.

&nb= sp;    ‘Well,’ I nudged, time passing.

&nb= sp;    ‘It’s a risk,’ Jimmy repeated.

&nb= sp;    ‘So was the orphanage,’ I reminded him.

&nb= sp;    He took a breath. ‘Watch the tent flaps, no one comes in. Adam, get a sy= ringe.’

&nb= sp;    Adam fetched a syringe from his bag, looking puzzled. ‘You have serum?R= 17;

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, but not in the form you’re used to. Do what I ask, or you’ll ha= ve no job.’ He offered his upturned forearm. ‘Take a syringe full. Quickly, man.’

&nb= sp;    Adam glanced at me as I policed the door, before drawing the blood. <= /span>

Jimmy snatched the syr= inge off the doc. ‘Say nothing, do nothing, stand back.’ He injected the leg, above and below the obvious bite mark, finally injecting the remainder into the man’s arm.

When done, Adam closed= in. ‘What do you do?’

&nb= sp;    ‘I was born with a rare genetic condition,’ Jimmy lied. ‘My blood = can … cure many things.’ He faced Adam. ‘If you speak about t= his I’ll kill you.’

Making Adam stay with = the patient, we stepped out as the other instructors arrived.=

Jimmy told them, ‘It’s touch and go, see what happens when Mac gets back. In the hands of the Gods now.’ He cleaned up without saying anything, put his shirt back on and returned to the tent without a word.

Adam jumped up. ‘= ;He is getting stronger.’

Jimmy didn’t res= pond. He just sat on a bed, his head lowered. I checked the leg over, and even I cou= ld see that the swelling was going down.

‘Adam,’ Ji= mmy softly called from a dark corner, the doc turning his head. ‘I am sor= ry … for threatening you.’

Adam swung his head ar= ound to me, not knowing what to say or do, clearly still terrified. We sat in silen= ce, pestered by flies, the patient’s vitals checked every five minutes; t= hey were getting stronger. Mac re-appeared a full forty-five minutes later, ser= um thrust into Adam’s face, quickly injected into the patient.

‘I think he will= make it,’ Adam solemnly stated. ‘We … need to move him to the local clinic … and inform his family.’

‘Yes, of course,= ’ Jimmy stated as he stood. He carried the man himself, out to a jeep, placing him in the rear. Adam jumped in and the jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust= .

‘You think he= 217;ll … Adam … he’ll talk?’ I delicately broached.

Jimmy sighed. ‘N= o, he’s a good man. Some day I’ll inject him. Still, it was= a risk.’

‘C’mon, yo= u look like you need a cold beer.’

Adam returned in the evening, Jimmy= sat quietly and not reacting.

&nb= sp;    ‘The man will be fine,’ Adam enthused, avoiding eye contact with Jimmy.

&nb= sp;    After a minute, Jimmy eased up. ‘Doc, walk with me, please.’ They ste= pped out into the cooler night air.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy explained, ‘If the world knew … knew about my blood … I w= ould not have a life, I would be in a clinic being experimented on. I would be … a freak. Everyone would want my blood, and I only have so much. Do = you understand this?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, I’m a doctor. If we knew of such a person he would not be left alone.’

&nb= sp;    ‘So you can see my dilemma, Doc. If I try and help people, I end up helping no = one because I would be locked up by the British or Americans, experimented upon.’

&nb= sp;    ‘It is a dilemma, yes,’ Adam softly admitted.

&nb= sp;    ‘And once again, Doc, I apologise for threatening you.’ He stopped and fac= ed Adam. ‘But you must be aware that I can, very easily, make people disappear.’

&nb= sp;    Adam nodded his understanding through the moonlight.

&nb= sp;    ‘There is something you need to know, Doc,’ Jimmy said as they progressed. ‘If I inject you … your blood will be like mine.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Like yours?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy nodded. ‘The orphanage we have taken over is an AIDS orphanage. In a = few years the people will notice something very odd.’
&nb= sp;    ‘Odd?’

&nb= sp;    Jimmy stopped. ‘The children no longer have AIDS.’<= /p>
&nb= sp;    ‘They have your blood!’ he realised.

&nb= sp;    Jimmy confirmed with a quick nod.

&nb= sp;    ‘How many … how many can you cure?’

&nb= sp;    ‘I am only one man, Doc. How many could you cure, if you were like me?’ = They walked on.

&nb= sp;    ‘This man, today –’ Adam began.

&nb= sp;    ‘Will live a very long time … and in very good health.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Your friend –’

&nb= sp;    ‘He’s not like me,’ Jimmy quickly cut in with.

&nb= sp;    Adam finally said, ‘If I take the blood, I will be like you?’

&nb= sp;    ‘First, my friend, study the man who we helped today. Before taking a decision like that you must think about it, your life will not be the same.’

&nb= sp;    Adam took Jimmy firmly by the arm and halted him. ‘I was raised a Christia= n. What you have … it is a miracle!’

&nb= sp;    ‘You may believe … in what you please, Koufi.’

&nb= sp;    Adam was shocked. ‘Koufi? My mother called me that … when I was very young. How … how can you know this? And how do you speak like you were born in my village?’

&nb= sp;    ‘There are other things about me … besides the blood, that you would not understand. You, Adam, sat on the riverbank and fished with no bait on the = hook – to be away from your father. But you didn’t like to hurt the fish.’

&nb= sp;    ‘How can you know this?’ the doc pleaded in a whisper. Finally, he said, ‘You were sent to us!’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, but not for the reason you think. May I have your word that you will not be= tray me?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Betray you? Never!’ Adam whispered.

&nb= sp;    ‘Then we shall be friends a long time.’

&nb= sp;    I joined them, appearing through the dark. ‘All … er … OK?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes,’ Adam confirmed, stood proudly tall. ‘All will be well.’ He head= ed back inside.

&nb= sp;    I watched his dark outline recede. ‘He OK?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yeah, I think so. I just had to bring my plans forwards by a year or so.’ He sighed. ‘No big deal.’ We headed back. ‘Tomorrow we’= ;ll go buy a hotel.’

&nb= sp;    ‘And change the name?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Why?’

&nb= sp;    ‘There’s no river!’

&nb= sp;    ‘It’ll give the guests something to puzzle over.’

&nb= sp;    We plodded through the dark. I asked, ‘Would I be right in thinking that= the Africans … they take the Christian name thing a bit literally?’

&nb= sp;    ‘Yep. Mary, Jesus, Virgin, Seth … Mathew, Mark, Luke and John. Which is exa= ctly what the British did in the middle ages. Hence … Paul.’

&nb= sp;    ‘Wasn’t he a betraying Roman twat?’

&nb= sp;    ‘He … wrote