Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

“Gentlemen, remember the Führer’s words: solidarity, mutual benefit, the common good. We were chosen to help Germany—to help mankind—live up to those values. Together, we are strong. Together, we can defeat our foes. We must make everyone in the company aware that the fight is not over. That we can and will lead them to our joint destinies. If everyone is made to understand the benefits they will gain by joining our cause, they will be lining up to join us. Only we know the real truth; only we can spread that truth. We were born for this job, and now that I am back, I will see that the job is finished.”Hofmann looked around the table, waiting for a response, expecting solidarity. Dr Ecker was the first to his feet.

“Herr Hofmann, I would like to be the first to welcome you back. But maybe you should give the process you are going through a little more time?”

“I am aware of the situation, but we have no time. You, Gentlemen, have wasted time. We should be much farther along than we are. Now that I have control of the company and of Jarvis, we can move forward. Jarvis is as aware of me as I am of him—we are of the same blood, and we share the same destiny.”

Hofmann showed them all the total conviction and belief that he felt. Within an hour of him awakening, they all believed him. Even Von Klitzing was moved by the passion of the man. Hofmann had left the meeting and delivered a great speech. But where was he now?

The phone rang, and Von Klitzing answered. After listening for a moment, he hung up and turned to Dr Ecker.

“Doctor, we have to go. Gentlemen, we will be back in thirty minutes.”

Back in the flat, Heinz Hofmann had stared into the bathroom mirror. The calm and bravado of the afternoon now a distant memory, the man in the mirror was a scared imitation. Fear and confusion racked him, his body felt as if every one of his muscles was contracting like some huge snake squeezing and pushing him back into the past, back to where he belonged. He tried pressing and prodding at his face, manipulating it into something that resembled his own, but to no avail. There were resemblances, the eyes and the hair colour were his, but it was not the face he remembered, and he feared that without it, he may never be able to complete the process, never be able to truly believe. His memories of his past life were helping, giving him confidence and security. His old life was all there, buried deep in this man’s brain, but intact. He felt it slowly shaping his host, helping them to fuse and blend, moulding them together. But he also realised it would take time, and he could not influence or accelerate the process. Patience had never been a virtue, and he was convinced that this would be one of his greatest battles. When they had started this endeavour, he had spoken to Professor Furtner at length. They had speculated about the results and tried to imagine this day.

What is a man, if not his memories? Didn’t we all stem from our personally accumulated knowledge? What makes us what we are, if not our personal experiences? When I am free of Jarvis’s past, I will be, to all intents and purposes, the same person I was before. It doesn’t matter what I look like, Hofmann told himself.

The power and intensity of the pain took him by surprise. It felt like a giant hand had reached into his skull and was crushing his brain. Forcing him to his knees, a primal howl escaped from his throat.

“Are you okay in there, Michael?”

The woman was outside. He had managed to fob her off when they left the town hall, complaining of a headache, and his body was now obliging, making the lie a reality.

She would be the next problem, he knew. Reichard and Von Klitzing’s plan, won’t work. She is an intelligent woman, and she should not be underestimated. She is also dedicated to this man. I have to be prepared for a fight.

“I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

The sound of a strange man’s voice startled him; it would take some getting used to. But it seemed to have the desired effect.

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything. I will be in the kitchen.”

Back on his feet, he let the taps run, bathing his face and forehead with cold water. His head was pulsing now. Each throb caused him to narrow his eyes, fighting back the pain and nausea. He forced himself to remember. Somehow, remembering helped him to keep calm, to get more of a grip on the rebellion he felt. Then the pain struck again, throwing him to the ground. On all fours, both hands on the slate grey tiled floor, moving back and forth like an animal, he fought the pain with all his might. The gasp he had made had, fortunately, been masked by the sound of running water. Thankfully, the concerned voice from outside the door never came. Then yet another blast of pain and his body retched and contorted. Michael Jarvis opened his eyes and stared down at the mess on the floor. He had ridden the pain back into consciousness, used it to bully his way back into control. He had no idea how he had known to do this, but it seemed that on some level, nature was still on his side. Pulling himself to his feet, he staggered to the bathroom door, unlocking and pulling it open. Still not in complete control of his extremities, he tilted himself forward to get some momentum, bouncing off the walls and doors as he made his charge towards the kitchen. The pain helped him to keep charge of his insubordinate body, and he welcomed it as a necessary evil. Ricocheting off the hall wall into the living room, he destroyed a silver-coloured table lamp, sending it crashing onto the hardwood floor. The lampshade buckled on impact, detonating the lamp’s base. Alerted by the noise, Lisa rushed to her husband’s aid, just in time to watch a spectacular backward somersault over the black leather sofa, narrowly missing the glass coffee table. Michael came to rest wedged between the two.

“Darling, darling, what’s the matter?”

He could see her screaming the words out, her face wild with fear, but the sounds were muffled to his ears, his brain struggling to decipher the information.

“Help me! Help me, Lisa!”

Pulling the mobile from her pocket, she dialled 999, before realising the number would be of little help to her in Germany. Forcing herself to be calm, she redialled 112 and prayed the number was correct.

“It’s going to be okay, Michael, hang on. It’s going to be okay.”

Hoping she was right, she calmed herself again for the conversation with the paramedics. The efficient German emergency services answered on the third ring, switching immediately into the English language, after Lisa’s first rushed attempt to communicate their situation failed.

“Please keep calm and tell me the nature of your emergency.”

“It’s my husband—he needs an ambulance. He is suffering extreme headaches and losing his balance.”

“Very good, madam. Where is your husband now?”

“He’s in the living room, on the floor. But he can’t stand up!”

“Can you tell me if he is conscious, and breathing normally?”

“Yes, yes, please hurry up.”

“If you would give me your address, I will despatch an emergency vehicle immediately.”

“God, we’ve just moved in. I don’t know the address exactly. It’s in the Olympic Park.”

“Could you give me your phone number?”

“Yes, it’s 0797 5532348, but it’s an English phone. Just a minute.” Lisa spun around, remembering the flat papers she had put in a kitchen drawer. She rushed into the kitchen, her phone pressed against her right ear the whole time. Fumbling through the kitchen drawers, she pulled the papers out, and was relieved to see the flat’s address, printed in large dark letters on the front of the document.