Haircut

By Gordon Yates

Carl von Kurtze is the egotistical head of a pharmaceutical company based in Linz, Austria. A bleak featurless castle high in the Austrian mountains is where his other, more sinister activities are carried out and this is where his employee, William, takes his girlfriend Freya, while they are on holiday. Freya has a unique genome which allows her to read minds; exactly the ability required by von Kurtze to finish his experiments with human cloning and targeted ethnic gene technology. He maintains that when complete this will enable him to selectively change the Jews of Europe into subservient automatons, with no will of their own. Arab organisations dedicated to eliminating the Jewish nation and a team of wealthy National Socialist industrialists have funded von Kurtzes activities but Freya suspects that there is another motive behind this faade. By threatening William, von Kurtze forces Freya to assist in the production of a clone of Adolph Hitler and she becomes a prisoner at the castle. The experiment is so successful that Hitler takes over the organisation leaving von Kurtze in a desperate situation, threatened by two tyrannical forces, the Arabs on one hand and Hitler on the other. The shocking truth is revealed when Freya witnesses the confession of von Kurtzes mother, Eva, who has secretly lived with the legacy of an incident which took place at the end of the second World War. Freya accesses von Kurtzes supercomputer and discovers the full extent of his nightmare plan. She is the only one with the ability to prevent von Kurtze plunging Europe into a new dark age and the Middle East into all out war. Eva provides the information Freya requires to stop von Kurtze, but is this the beginning or the end of the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481799560

Gordon Yates

Scientific innovation has radically changed human society since the industrial revolution. The pace of change in many disciplines is accelerating and threatens to overwhelm collective moral judgement. The author, has witnessed this creeping malaise and the machinations of business during the 36 years he has been employed working for a high tech company serving the oil industry, in the shadow of Lincoln Cathedral. He is interested in society's ability to maintain a responsible attitude to these changes in a world where ego seems to hold sway and Machiavellian individuals subjugate the weakest to achieve their personal goals. Are we destined to descend into anarchy by following the example of their leadership? Can we make sense of our condition by following the teachings of one of many religions or are they just as corrupt as the rest of society?. As those in authority harness new technology to maintain their self serving control, often for the wrong reasons, without proper understanding and with disastrous consequences, his hero's and heroines struggle to demonstrate the better aspects of humanity as they endeavour to rise above this all consuming greed for money and power.

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© 2013 by Gordon Yates. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/28/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9955-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9956-0 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 1

Freya glanced out of the dusty hairdresser’s window at the north London street outside. The sun had been beating relentlessly on the shop front all afternoon making working conditions intolerable. She was feeling irritable. Her feet were sore and her hair felt like soot had been rubbed into it. She looked over her shoulder. Jane was staring at her from the other side of the shop, a questioning scowl on her puffy, heavily made up face. Freya knew Jane regretted employing her. She had made that plain with her constant critical sniping and caustic comments. Freya put it down to jealousy; after all, Jane was well past her sell by date and probably resented having an attractive young woman around the establishment.

She picked up a brush and began to sweep up the remnants of two hours work. Suddenly she stiffened and watched attentively as a black Mercedes stopped outside just before the red and white police tapes sealing the exit from the street. A policeman went over to the car, leaned into the window and began talking to the driver. After a short conversation the policeman withdrew and went back to his post. The man in the car stretched in resigned fashion and busied himself with a mobile phone. The brush trailed ineffectually in the hair on the floor as she gazed at the scene outside.

‘Your customer’s waiting,’ said Jane in a fierce undertone.

Freya started, her attention diverted back to the man awaiting his haircut. ‘You could do with air conditioning in here,’ she grumbled.

Jane sidled across to her and sniffed contemptuously. ‘I don’t want the punters to feel too welcome,’ she whispered. ‘I want their money, not their company.’

Freya shrugged and turned back to the man who was sitting patiently in the chair staring blankly at the hairdressing implements arrayed on the shelf before him. He looks like a bundle of fun, she thought, still, things may be about to get underway.

She reached across him and selected a cutter. ‘Number four?’ she said helpfully.

‘God knows,’ he grunted disinterestedly, ‘whatever.’

She ran her fingers briskly through the wiry ginger hair, examining his scalp as she did so. It was her habit to do this. It was her way of relaxing the client. There may be other more devious reasons, she chuckled mentally to herself. ‘Yes, number four,’ she confirmed.

The man remained silent, almost submissive. Like an exhausted sheep waiting to be fleeced. Which at these prices he will be, she thought.

She quickly ran the cutter up the sides of his head and picked up the scissors to trim the top. The man made no movement. He seemed completely absorbed in his own world of thought, oblivious to her and his surroundings.

She sneaked another look out of the window. The Mercedes owner had left his car and was approaching the shop. She took in his expensive business suit and slim, fit appearance. He’s handsome, she thought appreciatively.

Mmm . . . sorry pal you’re going to have to go, she mused, looking at the ginger haired man’s reflection in the mirror. Quickly, she concentrated on the top of her client’s head and the usual images began to appear in her mind. ‘How much did you lose last night?’ she ventured.

The man started, as though jerked out of a deep sleep. ‘What did you say?’ he said half accusingly.

‘The card game, how much did you lose?’

‘None of your business,’ said the perplexed man and lapsed into a worried silence.

Freya continued to snip away at the hair on the top of his head. ‘’Course you didn’t have any luck on the fruit machines did you? But then the odds are always going to be in favour of the casino,’ she said casually.

The man became agitated and glared at her through the mirror. ‘How do you know all this?’ he said.

‘Ah… ah!’ stuttered Freya, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.’

‘Were you there, spying on me last night?’

Coup de grâce time, she thought. ‘Hardly; why would I be interested in a small time loser?’

‘You cheeky cow!’ shouted the outraged man as he dragged the cape from his shoulders and threw it on the floor. He stalked across the shop, his florid expression heightened with anger and stopped at the door only to comment; ‘I trust you don’t expect me to pay for the interrogation.’

Jane grimaced at her from the other side of the shop as the door crashed shut behind the man. She adjusted the dryer above the client she was attending then moved over to Freya.

‘I can’t afford this,’ she whispered fiercely, ‘one more and you are no more.’

‘I’m sorry Jane; I just don’t know how it happens. I try to make them feel more comfortable with a bit of harmless conversation and then somehow, things seem to get out of hand.’

Jane began to move back across the shop, turned and wagged an authoritative finger. ‘One more and you’re out… for good,’ she mouthed. She glanced up as the Mercedes owner entered the shop. ‘I hope it’s nothing special,’ she said, her expression changing to a condescending, welcoming smile. ‘We shall be closing in twenty minutes or so.’

He smiled in return. ‘Nothing special,’ he repeated obligingly.

Jane nodded in Freya’s direction and she picked up the discarded cape with a flourish.

At close quarters he was even more handsome than she had first thought, with clean cut, well-proportioned features and dark wavy hair. Freya took to him immediately. His ready smile had lit up an otherwise awful day. Mmm! Not bad, she thought as she helped him off with his jacket and hung it on a vacant peg.

‘What can I do for you sir?’ she said.

He shuffled into the plastic seat. ‘Just a trim please, nothing special.’

Freya’s fingers busied themselves on his scalp but not as vigorously as usual; more like a caress.

He examined her through the mirror. The hard day on her feet in the hot little hairdresser’s salon had taken its toll on her appearance but there was no doubting her beauty. The man found himself watching her every movement as if he were in a trance. Even the loose wisps of chestnut hair curling over the neck of her functional apron added to her appeal. But why are her eyes closed?

She ceased to massage his scalp suddenly and her eyes sprang open. He noticed that they were blue green, deep mysterious aquamarine, like the ocean.

‘What’s the hold up?’ he broke the spell nodding in the direction of the police cordon.

‘Somebody waving a gun about,’ she said, in offhand fashion.

‘I seem to be running into hold-ups this evening,’ he ventured, inviting the obvious question.

Freya obliged with; ‘Why?’

‘A truck slewed across the road in front of me and rammed the barrier. It blocked the whole road. Fortunately I was able to turn down here and avoid the mêlée.’

‘And ran into another hold up,’ smiled Freya.

For a moment he was silent as she leaned across him and picked up the trimmer. ‘Do you believe in fate?’ he blurted out.

‘Sorry, I just cut hair.’

He scolded himself for his gauche behavior. Why did I just say that? It’s not like me to have any sort of conversation with a barber.

Intrigued, he examined her more closely. In spite of the sexless apron and flat shoes he could not help being attracted to her. She moved around him like an athlete, snipping and trimming, her slim body swaying gently this way and that, her delicate perfume drifting around his head. He felt a pleasant dizziness invade his consciousness. ‘What is that perfume?’ he heard himself saying.

She ignored the question, as though avoiding any interruption in the spell she was weaving and began to massage his scalp again, her green eyes fixed steadily on his through the mirror.

‘How did the interview go William?’ she said suddenly, in a matter of fact way.

She felt him stiffen under her touch and smiled to herself.

‘Very well,’ he replied, struggling to remain calm.

‘The old guy, what was his name? Oh yes, Collingsworth! He gave you a hard time when he started asking questions about your employer. What was it you secretly called him? Cretin! Yes that was it… cretin… appropriate really. You handled his rudeness well though. You always seem to rise to the occasion when you wear your lucky watch,’ she added almost as an afterthought.

William felt his mind fog over momentarily. He instinctively looked for his watch beneath the black cape and then into her eyes… those mysterious, green eyes. He blinked hard.

What is this? What is going on?

‘What time do you finish?’ he said, as if in a dream.

‘You’re my last customer sweetie,’ she said removing the cape and holding up a hand mirror for him to inspect her work. Her eyes engaged his briefly.

William felt a strange detachment, as though the conversation was taking place between two other people and he was merely an observer. ‘That’s fine,’ he said.

She brushed loose hair from his shirt gently sending a tingle down his spine. He rose from the chair. ‘Can I offer you a lift somewhere?’ The words came from his mouth but he couldn’t understand why he said it.

She glanced out of the window, noted that the police barrier had been removed and turned back to face him, only to be confronted by Jane. ‘I hope you weren’t thinking of leaving yet?’ she hissed.

‘Not only thinking, but doing,’ replied Freya evenly.

Jane’s bleach blond, piled up hair, shook with anger and threatened to topple over. ‘Don’t bother coming back, sweetie, you’re sacked,’ she snarled.

Astonished by this turn of events, William could only gape at the drama which had suddenly unfolded before him. He felt he should do something but didn’t know quite what. ‘I… I’m sorry if I offended anybody,’ he spluttered, ‘it really wasn’t my intention to cause any problem.’

‘You haven’t,’ said Jane seeing his distress. She pointed a shaking finger at Freya who was busily packing her few belongings in a canvas bag. ‘That’s the problem!’

Unsure of what to do, he remained momentarily stranded between the two warring women. Freya calling from the shop doorway brought his awkward indecision to an end. ‘Come on then!’

William quickly grabbed his jacket and caught up with her as she made for his car. ‘Look I’m terribly sorry,’ he began, but was silenced by a wave of her hand.

‘Oh don’t worry about her,’ Freya said carelessly, ‘there are plenty of unqualified hairdressers in north London. She’ll soon get fixed up.’

‘It wasn’t her I was thinking of, I feel responsible for you losing your job.’

‘It’s only a temporary summer job, until I go back to university.’

‘You’re a student?’

‘Sure, I’m studying beauty therapy.’

‘Oh I see… mature student?’ he said cautiously.

Freya smiled. ‘I do like a chivalrous man,’ she said.

He took care to open the car door for her and was rewarded with a friendly smile. ‘Where do you want to be?’ he asked.

‘I’m in digs,’ she replied and gave him the address.

As he drove away William’s mind was in turmoil. He hardly knew how to phrase the question uppermost in his mind. How did she know so much about him and his movements over the last eight hours? Finally he broke the silence. ‘How… how… did you know… ?’ he began.

‘It’s a gift,’ she interrupted quickly and with a finality which suggested the subject was off limits.

He lapsed into silence once more and finally felt himself compelled to make an awkward comment. ‘With your talents I’m surprised you’re bothering with further education.’

‘You think I ought to be in a fairground tent telling fortunes?’ she snapped back.

William felt uncomfortable. He was beginning to wish he had never become involved with this mysterious woman. Was it her extraordinary behaviour that had attracted him? His usual clarity of thought had temporarily deserted him. He felt as though he were adrift on an uncharted ocean with no reference points, no land in sight where he could establish a firm foothold. Her eyes conjured up a vision of that deep, mysterious, inviting ocean. Was that it? Had she hypnotized him? Had he been compelled to do her bidding unwittingly?

Sensing his distress, Freya eased him back into conversation. ‘So what do you do for a living?’

He was brought down to earth with a bump. Here was something he could relate to. ‘I’m in genetic research but then you probably already know that.’

‘Unless you’re thinking it, I don’t know it,’ she replied, deciding to forgive his hint of sarcasm. After all he had suffered a considerable disorientating experience she told herself.

As they approached Freya’s digs an idea came into his mind. ‘Look I’m at a loose end tonight would you like to join me for dinner?’ he said.

‘Sure, why not?’ she replied. ‘Give me an hour to get that shop out of my hair.’

William sat in his car outside wondering why he was behaving in this way. He examined the exterior of the house critically. It was decidedly unimpressive, three up three down typical North London terrace. Sparse flowers littered the overgrown front garden. A willow tree leaned in lopsided fashion against a fractured fence. Why am I sitting here? He was normally reserved with women, only making advances when sure of the response. His style was more meticulous, measured and planned to the last detail. Impulsive behavior was alien to him. This was out of character and he knew it. It was possible that she had hypnotized him without him being aware of it, that much he knew. He struggled to understand how she knew so much about his interview of that afternoon. That was bad enough, but she had repeated the exact words he had used to describe Collingsworth to himself. Only he knew what he had been thinking while Collingsworth defamed his employer publicly. This suggested that she could genuinely read his mind. Hypnotized or not, he was sure he had said nothing to her about the interview. And how did she know about his lucky watch? He decided there had to be a logical, scientific explanation, or it was some kind of trick. He had to admit he was professionally intrigued. If she was genuine the implications were enormous. It would have been easy for him to dismiss her as a freak worthy only of scientific investigation and yet… Her perfume lingered in his car. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the back of the seat. The warm afternoon sun made him drowsy. Her beautiful green eyes filled his mind as he dozed briefly.

Freya looked out of the upstairs window and noted with some satisfaction that his car was still there. She smiled to herself. ‘He’s cute,’ she mused. ‘Fringe benefits?’

In the full-length wardrobe mirror she eyed herself critically. Her figure was neat and curved where it was supposed to curve but couldn’t be described as full. A strict exercise regime ensured that her fitness was maintained. She tilted her hips this way and that and examined the effect. Suddenly she bent over, placed her hands flat between her feet and in a single lithe movement swung her feet upwards above her head. Her skirt flopped down from her waist revealing muscular athletic thighs. She pointed her toes and moving her legs in a scissor like fashion, proceeded to walk on her hands across the small bedroom of her three-room flat until she reached the bathroom. Her body tilted over until it was supported on one hand and then in a flash she was upright with barely a sound to note the transition. After showering and applying fresh make up at her small dressing table mirror, she looked sternly at her reflection. ‘Behave yourself,’ she said. The reflection responded with a mischievous wink. Slipping into a plain, black, knee length dress, she examined the effect in her full length wardrobe mirror. Satisfied, she picked up her black court shoes and turned them over to examine the soles. ‘Mmm! Plenty of life left in you yet,’ she murmured poking at one of the heels reflectively. ‘I can always rely on you in an emergency.’

The tap tap of a walking stick outside her bedroom door caused her to turn around. The door swung open unceremoniously to reveal the small disheveled figure of Madge, her landlady. Madge’s too white national health teeth gleamed incongruously in her brown wizened face which was framed by a mop of wispy purple rinse hair. Sunlight streaming in from the passage behind her gave her the appearance of having a halo. A lime green, crimplene, food stained dress bulged around her podgy body and a baggy, lilac, knitted cardigan, sat shapelessly on top of that. Freya suppressed a giggle. She rummaged in a sagging pocket of the cardigan, produced a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Freya.

‘Now you know I don’t Madge.’

‘Yer, but noffin’s for ever,’ she remarked with a sniff.

Ash fell from her lighted cigarette. While leaning heavily on her stick, with her good foot, she obliterated it from the carpet where it had fallen. ‘There’s a nice young gen’elman sitting in a posh car outside. Is he the one dear? Is he mister right? ’Cos if he aint, I’m gonna claim him.’

‘Sorry Madge, he’s mine,’ said Freya apologetically.

‘Story o’ my life,’ she complained, ‘all the good uns are always taken.’

‘What about Bernard what have you done with him?’

‘Oh he’s alright. No joy de viv though. Alus talking about settlin’ down. A gal like me needs a bit of excitement in her life. We ’ave what yer might call a spiritual relationship.’

Freya’s eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘Spiritual relationship?’ she echoed.

‘Yer,’ she said with a chuckle, ‘he drinks vodka an’ I drinks gin.’ She shuffled over to the window and peered out. ‘Whereas he looks like he’s up for it,’ she chortled. ‘Is he the one?’

‘Yes… good looking isn’t he? He could be my Prince Charming, who knows? Anyway he’s asked me out for a meal tonight.’

‘Wot jus’ like that?’ intoned Madge incredulously.

‘Well, not quite.’

‘Ah! You worked your magic on him then?’

‘Well you know how it is Madge. We women are blessed with certain charms and we use them when required.’

‘Yus I know dearie,’ she said hobbling away from the window, ‘they jus’ don’t realise they’re playing with fire do they? Ah mean take Bernard, fourteen years we’ve bin seeing each other an’ he ain’t figured out yet that he’s hooked.’

Freya smiled and nodded. Rising from the dressing table she put on her shoes and turned to look at herself in the mirror again. Madge appeared behind her in the reflection. ‘Now I started out this morning looking jus like that,’ she complained. ‘Nah look at me. This bloody hole in the ozone layer ruins yer complexion,’ she said poking her sagging jowls thoughtfully.

She shuffled out and looking over her shoulder gave Freya a sly wink. ‘I’ll put the hot water bottle in yer bed later. Course I s’pose yer won’t be needing it tonight.’

‘Madge! It’s summer!’

‘Yeah course. Ah forget don’ I? ’Cos Bernard’s not all there, in a manner of speaking, he don’t keep me properly warm at night. So naturally, I fink other people’s got the same problem see?’

William’s mouth fell open and the mobile phone slipped from his grasp as she appeared in front of the car. The transformation from footsore, jaded hairdresser to gorgeous young woman was complete. Recovering quickly he spoke into the phone. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow when I’ve found out more.’

He replaced the phone in its holder and jumped out of the car to greet her. ‘Wow! You look fabulous.’

‘Thank you,’ she said coyly as he opened the door for her.

He slid in beside her noting appreciatively the shape of her long elegant legs.

Freya said nothing but was secretly pleased.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The small Italian restaurant suggested by William, was almost empty as it was still early evening. The waiter guided them to a table and hovered expectantly nearby. Freya looked at him critically for a moment. He was smartly dressed in clean white shirt, black trousers and sporting a green bow tie. She thought he looked about twenty years old with no sign of stubble on his fair skinned face. Definitely not Mediterranean. He withdrew temporarily to the bar, disturbed by her enquiring gaze. She was aware of his eyes on her as she examined the menu.

‘I think a little pasta and some salad,’ she said glancing at William. ‘Let me see now your favorite is… oh yes! Pizza! Quattro Staggione.’

He caught his breath and hesitated. How the hell does she know . . . ? ‘Well… er… actually, no,’ he said quickly. ‘I used to adore pizza but for some reason went off it, just last week.’

Freya gave him a quizzical glance. She knew he was lying but decided not to press the point any further. It didn’t matter anyway. He knew the truth.

He broke the uneasy silence. ‘I can’t quite believe this, I’m not normally an impulsive person but here I am with a beautiful girl I’ve only just met. I know nothing about you. I don’t even know your name. Please understand I’m not the sort of person who preys on innocent young girls.’

Freya nodded her agreement. ‘But this is different?’

‘Well… yes it is.’

‘You don’t think I’m innocent?’

William’s face coloured bright pink. Mmm, thought Freya, now that’s endearing. I wonder when he last blushed. In the uncomfortable pause that followed, he struggled to respond and then despairingly sought refuge in the menu.

Freya’s heart warmed to him, his handsome dark features were troubled with doubt and concern. ‘So what’s it to be?’ she said pointing at the menu.

‘Oh I don’t know… you choose something. I’m too confused.’

She reached across the table and laid her hand briefly on his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I am a bit impetuous sometimes and it can be scary. I suppose I enjoy shocking stuffed shirts.’

‘Is that how you see me, a stuffed shirt?’

‘You are a bit pompous,’ she said with a giggle.

‘Oh, I hadn’t realised. Is that really how I come across?’

‘Well, something attracted me to you.’

William was silent, wrestling with the mystery of this young woman. She sat opposite him clearly enjoying his discomfort, playing with him, as an angler plays a fish. He felt resentment welling up inside. He looked into her eyes searching for an explanation but was captured in her radiant smile and the anger instantly dissipated. He decided to challenge her directly. ‘You seem to know everything about me… how do you do that? I can’t understand…’

She interrupted him, ‘I know sweetie it’s an uncomfortable feeling. Don’t worry about it. I’m not dangerous. It’s just one of my fairground performances that’s all,’ she said with a smile.

William winced, remembering his past remark. ‘I must admit I’m intrigued,’ he said, beginning to relax. ‘But it’s much more than that. When you were cutting my hair I felt compelled to become involved with you. It was as though I was being attracted to you and I didn’t seem able to resist.’

‘Ah yes! Now that’ll be my magnetic personality.’

‘Do you ever take anything seriously,’ he said with a frown.

Freya