The Quick Brown Fox Page 16

  ‘What me?’ he uttered in false surprise, dropping the book on the floor as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. ‘Who said I did that?’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got the right man?’ enquired his father, although he knew in his heart that his son had committed the deed. He turned to his offspring with a sharp tone in his voice. ‘You told me that your contract had ended at Universal Energy and you intended to move on. What’s all this about a heating process?’

  Coleman decided that he had been cornered and that it was time for him to come clean. ‘Okay!’ he admitted. ‘I took the information and deleted the program from the computer but anyone with any sense would know that it was still on the hard disc. It just needed to be recovered. No one got hurt. It was an opportunity and I took it.’

  ‘Are you saying that you stole information and then left the company?’ demanded his father becoming irate.

  ‘Well... yes... I did. There was no reason for me to stay on.’

  ‘That’s the third job you’ve had in three years!’ exclaimed his father animatedly.

  ‘Nearly four years,’ corrected his son.

  ‘Whatever! It’s about time you put your mind to doing some proper work.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to join you into selling imported motor vehicles you can forget it, father!’

  Jake shifted on his feet and decided it was time to intervene. ‘Look,’ he began seriously. ‘We don’t want to get into a domestic argument. All we want is the return of the information he stole.’

  ‘I’ve got a copy,’ stated Coleman softly.

  ‘A copy!’ echoed the ex-convict. ‘Who did you pass the details to?’

  ‘Well I ran a pyramid scheme with options.’

  There was a long silence before Jake continued. ‘What are you talking about, man?’

  ‘I contacted twelve of my old colleagues at university and set up a program where they each paid me a sum of five grand for the option of cashing in on the process when it was fully tested. They sold the idea to their contacts and it’s go on all the way down the line. It’s a pyramid program.’

  ‘Are you telling me that the details of the heating process is in the hands of dozens of people?’ gasped the ex-convict in disbelief.

  ‘I suppose so,’ came the reply. ‘If you want me to stop them passing on the information, all I can say is that it’s a mission’s impossible.’

  Jake slumped down in an armchair watched carefully by Coleman’s father.

  ‘The boy didn’t mean any harm,’ stated the older man. ‘I mean no one was hurt.’

  ‘Not yet they haven’t!’ snapped Jake with a solemn expression on his face,

  ‘What’s so important about it?’ asked Coleman senior.

  ‘Whoever has control of it will be able to make trillions of pounds. The question is what do we do about this situation?’

  ‘You’re not going to hurt my son, are you?’

  ‘It’s gone way beyond that!’ snarled Jake angrily.

  ‘I’ll do anything you say,’ uttered young Coleman cowardly. He recognized that he was faced with a situation which could render him with a great deal of pain. He stared at the giant henchman and wilted. ‘Anything!’

  ‘Here’s what you’re going to do,’ stated the ex-convict bluntly. ‘You’re going to tell every one of your contacts that the theory didn’t work in practice... that it was unworkable. They’ll need to tell all their contacts and so on all the way down the line. In that way, all the people involved, except yourself, will have lost money but you’ll need to answer to them, Do you get the picture?’

  ‘I get it,’ replied young Coleman quickly.

  ‘You’d best get started now!’ He looked at Coleman’s father sternly. ‘I think you’d better oversee that it’s done because I’m not sure he’s capable of doing it. All I can say is that it will avoid a lot of problems... mainly physical ones.’

  Roy Coleman nodded slowly. He was a man of the world and he understood exactly what would happen to his son if he failed to comply.

  ‘It’ll be done!’ he responded sternly before turning to his son. ‘You’d best get on the telephone boy and start dialling. You’ve a number of people to contact!’

  His son stood up, pulling his dressing-gown around him and went to the telephone which rested on a table in a corner of the room.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve been troubled,’ stated Coleman senior apologetically. ‘David sometimes goes over the top. If only his mother was still alive. Don’t worry. I’ll see that he does the right thing. Come with me!’

  He led them to the kitchen and invited them to sit down. Pouring three cups of coffee, he virtually pleaded for the two visitors not to harm his son.

  ‘He’s all I’ve got now,’ declared the man sadly ‘I know he has his faults... ’

  ‘We’re not here to harm him unless he fails to comply with our wishes,’ interrupted Jake quickly. ‘There’s a lot involved here, Mr, Coleman, and it all leads to greed. People cannot simply steal from others to gain the benefits for themselves. You need to understand our position.’

  ‘Does anything need to be returned to Universal Energy?’ He passed the coffee to the other two men,

  ‘No. They’re not interested in the copies, In any case, it’s too far gone now with dozens of people holding the details. They must be stopped from continuing with the investment.’

  They left the house ten minutes later leaving a worried father with a dissolute son. Hopefully, all those in the scheme devised by David Coleman would be dissuaded from any presentations of the theory in the future in the belief that the system had failed to work.

  Having completed his task, all Jake had to do was to go back to Mr. G. to inform him of the situation. His henchman shook his head as they drove back to London.

  ‘I think we should have bounced ‘im around!’ said the giant. ‘‘E’s a great big poof if you ask me!’

  ‘Well there are times one has to use discretion,’ returned Jake easily. ‘To tell you the truth, I felt more sorry for his father, He’s definitely landed with a duff son.’

  ‘What’s your boss gonna say?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t really care. We’ve done our part. I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble with the one. I’m sure that his father will keep a very watchful eye on him in the future. He doesn’t want us to come around again.’

  They drove on the rest of the way in silence. Indeed, Mr. G., would not be pleased to learn what had taken place but he would have to accept it and expect the field to be clear for him to continued negotiations with other parties. At least that’s what the future seemed to offer. Nothing more... nothing less!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Don began to feel a degree of excitement each time he went to see Dr. Sinclair. He could feel it building up inside him knowing that the final result would be very much in his favour. It was his greatest wish to look slim and handsome and now it was going to come about. The bandages still remained on his face and he understood that they would continue to be there for some time to come but there was definitely light at the end of the tunnel.

  It was two months later when he went to see the surgeon who removed the bandages from his face to examine his patient’s nose.

  ‘Can I look at myself in a mirror?’ asked the scientist hopefully for he was dying to see what he looked like.

  ‘Not advisable,’ stated the doctor sharply. ‘There’s a lot more to do and I don’t want you to see it until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Just one peek,’ pleaded Don, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

  ‘Be patient and all will be revealed in due course,’ came the response. ‘Now... let’s look at your lips. Hm... they’re quite fat, aren’t they? ‘You realise that you won’t be able to eat anything for a few days after the operatio
n., but that’s to your advantage. You’ll lose more weight. Let’s get on with the operation!’

  ‘Will there be more pain than that I experienced on my nose?’ asked the patient.

  ‘Only a little. You’ll have to be brave and face up to it. If you do, it’ll affect you much less. Try to focus your mind on other matters.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, doctor,’ returned the scientist, ‘ but it was my nose and it’s my lips.’

  ‘Don’t whine,’ cautioned the surgeon. ‘I can’t stand people whining!’

  The room fell silent as Dr, Sinclair pointed to the operating table. Once again, all the instruments had been laid out neatly on a side-table.

  ‘Shouldn’t there be a nurse in attendance?’ enquired Don weakly. ‘Or someone to assist you. They always do in films on the television.’

  ‘We’re here in real life, Mr. Wise,’ countered the surgeon. ‘Just lay back on the table and we can start.’

  The scientist obeyed and a white cloth was placed around his upper body. Once again Dr. Sinclair filled a hypodermic needle and injected it into Don’s arm. He winced as it was pushed into his skin and within ten seconds he was fast asleep under the anaesthetic.

  Dr. Sinclair carried out the operation, slimming the lips of his patient to a reasonable proportion and afterwards he sat back in his chair breathing heavily. It had been a long time since he had carried out such a series of operations. In the past, he had been renowned for his adeptness at cosmetic surgery. The waiting list for patients in his surgery simply grew and grew, Then, one fateful day, he operated on a patient and his world caved in. For reasons beyond his control, the woman’s skin seemed to contract far more than normally and the skin on her face somehow tore itself apart. Clearly, she had some unusual dermatology problem but she sued his practice and the matter was investigated being given wide publicity in the National Press complete with horrific pictures, Suddenly his waiting list evaporated and the matter was reported to the Medical Council. He was struck off for malpractice and that was the end of his career. However Jake had arranged for Don Wise to come into contact with him and, although his hands began to shake as soon as he picked up a scalpel, he calmed himself down and acted as he had done in the old days. It was like riding a bicycle... one never forgot!

  When Don awoke from the anaesthetic, he discovered that his mouth was covered with a bandage as well as his nose. He tried to speak but it sounded like a trapped bumble bee trying to escape,

  ‘If I were you,’ advised Dr. Sinclair sternly, ‘I’d keep my mouth shut for a couple of days. Go home, stay in bed if you must. Let’s the lips heal naturally. I’ll have a word with Mai Wan to let you have a couple of days off.’

  The scientist shook his head vigorously and made noises that sounded quite negative but they appeared meaningless. He now had the bit between his teeth and was refusing to let go. The programme for all the cosmetic surgery was about half way through and by now it had gone too far to let go at this stage, He made a number of mumbling sounds behind the bandages and then hastened off to the house of the Chinese psychotherapist. He still felt a little woozy from the anaesthetic but he managed to pull himself together,

  ‘Now that we’re progressing well,’ declared Mai Wan, ‘I want to move on to the next stage.’

  He mumbled something that sounded like: ‘What’s that going to be?’ but the words were incomprehensible because of the bandage covering his mouth.

  ‘We’re going to start on body language,’ she told him. ‘You may think it’s nonsense but I can tell you it’s one of the most important signals picked up by women. It’s so important that you learn the way to walk, the way to move, the way to position yourself at all times. They’re all important factors. By just watching people going into a room can tell a great deal about them from their body language. There’s a lot you’ll need to learn and even more to practice. The first thing is that you need to be casual. No awkward steps. No jerky movements Let me see you try it.’

  He walked forward six steps and she shook her head slowly. ‘No... no... no! You’re walking like a glump! Loosen up! Let your body go more limp. Try again.’

  He walked back six steps and she threw her hands into the air. ‘Not that limp! Now you look like a wilting flower. It seems that we have a lot of work to do on this.’

  They continued for a while, practising walking into a room and developing the practice of body language. Don was so confused, his mind went into a whirl. There was so much to learn and he had let all the years pass by without even realising it. He made every effort to obey her commands but he knew that it would take time to accomplish his aim.

  Thirty minutes later, he moved on to his teacher, Hywel Griffiths who decided that he would talk about art that evening.

  ‘Let’s start with the Impressionists,’ began the tutor stolidly. ‘I mentioned that they included Manet, Monet, Renoir, Pisarro, Cezanne and Matisse. It was a style of painting developed in France in the 1870s. It was characterised chiefly by the concentration of the general impression produced by a scene of object and by the use of unmixed primary colours and small strokes to simulate actual reflected light. I have here some copies for you to look at, mainly Girl With a Harp by Renoir, Woman With a Parasol by Manet, and A Boulevard by Pisarro, It was said that if an Impressionist painter could paint fast enough, he could do the same painting of an outdoor scene three times in a day and that each one would be different because of the change of light. Have a look at them and note the brushwork.’

  Don took the copies and stared at them although he couldn’t truly appreciate the artistry. After a short while, he passed them back and Griffiths continued with his lecture. At the end of the evening, he wasn’t feeling too well and was only too pleased to get back to his bedsit and fall straight into bed. The latest operation was causing him to feel pain and he wasn’t too happy about it.

  The next morning, he felt that his lips had puffed up badly but he still went in to work. Anya was the first person he saw and she sympathised with him with regard to the operation.

  ‘You poor man!’ she said pitifully. ‘I know exactly how you feel because it keeps happening to me.’

  ‘You dn’t need to pity me,’ he told her in a muffle. ‘You have your own problems.’

  ‘We’ve had visitors,’ she went on as he sat glumly at his desk.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ he mumbled almost incoherently.

  ‘Those two men from the testing division... Fowler and Collinge returned. They wanted to check whether they could find anything left by Mr. Harris. I don’t think they can continue testing until they know the full details of the process. It’s very complicated to say the least.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’ he managed to utter.

  ‘Of course not. There’s nothing left here except the file on the computer and that doesn’t explain everything clearly. The men complained that something was missing in the formula and the notes. That’s why they came here to search for more evidence.’

  She put on her coat and picked up her purse.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked in a muffled tone.

  ‘I have an appointment at the hospital. It’s another operation so you won’t find me in a good mood tomorrow.’

  ‘I know exactly how you feel,’ he mumbled sympathetically. ‘Good luck!’

  She left the room and he stared at the coffee machine knowing that he was unable to drink anything. Both he and Anya were undergoing a great deal of pain and anguish through no fault of their own but the end result for both of them was an encouraging thought. He still wanted to tear the mask from her face so that he could see what she looked like but that was out of the question. Nonetheless, their relationship as colleagues working together... was bonding very nicely,,,,,very nicely indeed!

  ***

  There was no real reason for Rose Harris to delay in making
arrangements for her husband’s funeral. The main fact was that she did not do so because she didn’t care. However as time passed by, the authorities contacted her about the inordinate delay and ultimately she was forced to take action to undertake her husband’s burial. In due course, his body was removed from the morgue, loaded into a coffin, and taken to the cemetery.

  On a cold, dull wet miserable morning, with the wind blowing the rain heavily from the west, the dull wooden coffin was wheeled into the cemetery to rest on two ropes at the top of the open grave. Rose Harris stood beside it holding an umbrella firmly above her head to protect her from the driving rain. As far as she was concerned, for reasons other than the inclement weather, the quicker it was all over the better. The saddest part of the ceremony was that Robert Harris was devoid of both friends and family, therefore the only people in attendance were his wife, Mr. G., who had come only to support her, Don Wise, and a Professor Ward and his assistant, neither of whom were known to anyone there. It was hardly a fitting ceremony for a person whose wife had lost all respect for him... a man who had no friends or relatives to grieve him... but even worse was to come to light that dreary morning.

  After the vicar had completed the final rites and the coffin was lowered carefully into the pit, he threw some earth on to the top of it before turning to the others, indicating for them to do likewise, and then walked away having completed his task. Rose Harris turned to Professor Ward inquisitively wondering why he had come to the funeral of her late husband for she had never seen him before.

  ‘I don’t know you sir,’ she began politely. ‘Robert never mentioned anything about his friends. He must have had some impact on your life in the past for you to be here.’

  The Professor hesitated for a few moments and then stared at her coldly. He was a tall, man, about fifty-five years of age, with greying hair and a goatee beard. ‘He certainly did have an impact on me and he still does,’ answered the Professor flatly bridling at the comment. ‘ I knew him briefly and it was very much to my disadvantage!’ Without elaborating further, he turned on his heel and walked swiftly away.