Nobody Ever Dies

Which of course triggered an astonishing pang of pure, unadulterated jealousy. I realized that I had no right to feel that way, because in every moral and legal sense the woman I was meeting was Brettmann's wife, not mine. My little voice whispered warningly, "This whole thing is a mistake."

My young guide approached the two of them like they were royalty and said something in Spanish. They both turned and looked inquiringly in my direction. They had to be aware of the shocking amount of cash that I had just added to the museum's operating budget.

It was Becks who broke away and came toward me accompanied by the little hostess, leaving her husband standing alone. She was smiling welcomingly and the unreality of it all nearly cause me to faint. It's one thing to plan. But as Clausewitz said, "No plan survives the first contact with the enemy."

Becks approached me serenely, with the graceful and radiant self-assurance of the Lady of the Manor. She extended her hand in genteel greeting. I took it in mine and the entire universe shifted. Humans are electrical. Our nerves transmit signals in bursts from cell to cell, which is no different in concept than a network. And we had just completed a circuit. I felt the connection. She did too.

Becks' face changed from one of cool poise to puzzlement. She said, in a heavy Spanish accent. "Welcome, I am Maria March-Brettmann, my husband does not speak English fluently and so he has asked me to handle the greeting." There was bewilderment written on her face.

I thought astounded, "Maria!!!??" Then it dawned on me, "That's right, she had no memory of who she was!! So of course, they would give her a new name. In a Catholic country, what could be more appropriate for the Mysterious-Lady-from-the-Sea than Maria?"

I said, trying to keep my voice level, "I am delighted to be here Madame." I had demonstrated that pleasure by dropping fifty-large into their coffers. I could have probably gotten the introduction for less. But I didn't want to be outbid. Besides, that's just accrued interest for any given Tuesday. Money makes money and I couldn't spend it all in a dozen lifetimes.

I added, "My name is Erik, and I am honored to meet two such distinguished patrons of the arts." Maria looked even more confused and upset when I said my name. Still, she recovered gracefully and said, "Please let me introduce you to my husband. He is the sponsor of this event, and he wishes to express his gratitude for your donation. I will translate for him."

I was just barely holding it together. Because the thing of it was - I was her husband, and this was starting to look like a very bad idea.

She turned and I followed. OH MY GOD!! The dress was backless right down to her OTHER two adorable dimples!! Becks would never wear a dress like that. The smooth well-muscled alabaster vision in front of me almost gave me a heart attack. It was a miracle that I wasn't sporting a woody when I shook hands with Brettmann.

He said something in Spanish. Maria translated, "My husband thanks you for your donation and wishes to enquire who you are and what you do?"

The guy was just being polite. However, he was leading me through the looking glass much sooner than I'd planned. Oh well in-for-a-penny-in-for-a-pound, I said, speaking slowly so Maria could translate, "I used to work for the U.S. Government at a place called Fort Meade in Maryland."

Maria gave me a stricken look and then translated with a growing level of distress. Fort Meade had clearly raised memories. Of course... She HAD spent her entire professional life there.

I added, "I was happily married to a woman named Rebecca, who I loved beyond anything. But I lost her in a plane crash, and her death nearly killed me too." That was getting close to the line. But I had to tell her like it was if I was going to resurrect any old memories.

Maria translated again, looking more-and-more upset. Her husband was just listening politely, the way you would act if some boring nerd who'd just handed you fifty thousand cash was reciting his life story.

I added, because I was in territory that Becks knew nothing about, "I was so devastated by her loss that I retired from the Army and took a little invention of mine public. It made an inconceivable amount of money."

Then I laughed and said self-effacingly, "But you know how tech creates overnight billionaires." Brettmann wouldn't know that, because even Americans don't understand the implausible world of technology markets.

So, I added, "And since then I have been touring the world trying to get over the loss of my wife who I used to call Becks."

I finished sadly, "It's been a struggle."

I stopped at that point and looked at Maria to translate. But she was just standing there with a troubled look on her face. Then she blurted, "Excuse me!!!" and fled in the direction of the registration desk.

The little Spanish hottie appeared a few moments later and said, "Mrs. March-Brettmann is not feeling well so she asked me to translate for you." She was as puzzled as the good doctor at Maria's precipitous exit. I wasn't.

I said to Brettmann, "Is your wife going to be alright?" I really wasn't interested in Becks/Maria's health. I was fishing for a diagnosis.

The young woman translated my question. Brettmann said something at great length back to her and then turned and walked away. It was clear that he was uneasy dealing with me without having his wife as a buffer and so I was dismissed. I didn't object since I now considered him an irrelevant detail.

The Spanish girl beckoned to me and then turned and walked toward the lavish bar. I followed admiring the sway of her beautiful round hips. She was perhaps five-two and perfectly proportioned if you like curvy women. Think a 23-year-old version of Salma Hayek.

She said something to the people at the bar and they instantly produced a sleek pitcher of cool sangria. It was exactly the right drink for the occasion. She took two big round glasses with the fruit already in them and walked to a table.

The place was beginning to fill with guests, and I noticed Brettmann on the other side of the room entertaining what looked like a pack of fellow grandees. This was Becks' world now. I could see that I didn't belong.

I sat down at the table as the girl poured us a couple of liberal glasses. She said, "My name is Sofia and Dr. Brettmann has asked me to serve as your hostess for the rest of the evening."

The dark luminous eyes in her gorgeous face were telling me that there was more to that statement then a simple desire to be hospitable. I said, "Did he tell you what happened to Mrs. March-Brettmann? It looked like the problem was a lot more serious than a simple headache or upset stomach."

Sophia said, "You must have heard that Dr. Brettmann's wife is in a very strange situation."

I said, most likely sounding impatient, "Yes, she was discovered adrift at sea, and she has no memory of her past. Dr. Brettmann was the fellow who treated her, and they eventually became lovers and married. I heard that story almost as soon as I landed here."

She added, with hesitancy in her voice, "Dr. Brettmann just explained that lately his wife is beginning to recover parts of her past. Three years is the normal point in an amnesiac's progression when they begin to remember things that they lost, and it can be very upsetting to the patient when they do."

I nodded in agreement and said, "I understand. The patient must feel like she's waking from a dream - where it's hard to tell exactly where the dream ends, and reality begins."

Sophia added, "Apparently you said something that caused Mrs. Brettmann to remember a part of her past and that is why she left so abruptly. The Doctor thinks that it is probably because you are an American and she was originally from that Country."

I thought, "Or maybe it was because I -- in effect --just stomped all over Rebecca Spenser's grave by telling Maria March-Brettmann who she really was."

Sophia continued with, "So, the Doctor has asked me to ask you to please leave. He means no disrespect and he is grateful for your donation. But he loves his wife, and it is clear that your presence here upsets her."

Seriously??!! Rebecca, or Becks, or Maria, or whatever her name was, was no less distressed than I was. I'd planned to drop a couple of breadcrumbs to see whether I could lead her back to her old life. But now that I'd let that genie out of the bottle, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I'd gone too far.

Worse - as farfetched as it might sound, I was also wondering whether the good doctor had gotten a hint that I was something more than I was representing myself as. He wasn't an idiot, and it was clear to anybody watching that my presence was affecting his wife in a radically emotional way.

Sophia continued in her sultry voice, "He has asked me to accompany you if you wish and he will pay for anything that the two of us do tonight."

Aha!! The bribe. What would be wrong with me taking this spectacular young girl back to my place for a sweaty night of passion? She was probably the hottest twenty-three-year-old on the island and I was sure from the abundant cleavage on display in her low-cut LBD that she would be an amazing fuck.

She was looking at me with hunger and anticipation, expecting the obvious answer. The problem was that I still had a wife and I just didn't think it was right, as crazy as that might sound. Like I said, nerds mate for life and I didn't want to complicate what was already a complex situation.

I said, hating myself for being a sentimental fool, "You are a spectacularly attractive young woman, Sophia. But I've already caused enough trouble tonight. So, I'm just going to walk back to the hotel by myself now."

Her face fell, I'm not a bad looking guy and my kind of money would make Quasimodo look attractive. I added with regret in my voice. "I should have probably never come here in the first place. Tell the Doctor that I'm sorry for upsetting his wife and there are no hard feelings."

I rose and Sophia escorted me back to the courtyard entrance. I was kicking myself, standing there in the soft Palma night. She was a beautiful and sensual young woman. But I had to get away from that place to think. Nerds think too much. It's our curse.

I said sincerely, "I'll feel better in the morning. Give me your number and maybe I'll give you a call." That perked her up. I handed her my phone, and she entered her number. She said, with tons of promise in her voice, "Give me a call Senor. You won't regret it." And I stepped out into the street.

I must've looked out of place walking along in a silk tux in the hustle and bustle of the Carrer Sant Miquel. It was the dinner hour, so the streets were packed and there was the sound and smell of those ubiquitous little motor scooters that the natives drive like they have a death wish -- both theirs, AND yours. They were weaving through the sauntering herd of tourists like border collies herding sheep.

I was walking along slowly in the beauty of a Palma evening, sorting through the powerful conflicting emotions. There was no way I could go back to how it had been after seeing Becks and talking to her. But what could I DO about the situation? The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to do something.

The big crowd was excited as it made its way through the arch that leads into the Placa Major. The Placa is a central feature in that part of Majorca. It's a huge space where the outdoor markets are held. There was some kind of spectacular fireworks show going on in it that night. We all stopped to watch.

I was several yards into the Placa standing with my hands in my pockets and looking up, as the rockets arched overhead and burst into starry displays, which provided a perfect backdrop for the soft voice behind me that said, "Hello Erik."

I knew it might happen. But it still rocked me to the core. She'd followed me!! I turned and she was standing there in her gorgeous red dress, tears in her eyes, looking both frightened and hopeful. Her sheer stunning beauty was like a physical blow to my chest. It knocked me back a step.

I said, voice quavering, "Rebecca??!" She nodded eagerly. It was the same quick little nod that she'd made when I'd first discovered that she was Tiffin Ellerian.

Then she launched herself into my arms and we kissed like long lost lovers -- which I guess we were. The crowd around us thought I'd proposed, or something. They clapped and cheered us as we continued to be locked together like we would spin off the world if we ever let go of each other. You could almost hear the romantic music swelling in the background.

At which point... the romantic interlude was broken up by five men in official looking uniforms. A grim older guy, who was clearly their leader, walked up to us and said peremptorily, "Come with me Madame Brettmann and we will take you back to your husband." The tone of voice was like somebody speaking to a mental patient.

She looked at him and said firmly, "My name isn't Brettmann, and I am not the Doctor's wife." She turned. pointed at me and said, "I am HIS wife." That little gesture meant the whole world to me. Rebecca had chosen without hesitation.

The leader said patronizingly, "Of course you are Madame. But we still need to return you to your husband. He is quite worried about you." It suddenly dawned on me that the entire conversation was conducted in English. This was for MY benefit.

He turned to two of his minions and said. "Please escort Mrs. Brettmann back to the museum." Each man gently took ahold of one of Becks' arms and led her away. She continued to gently protest. That was the Becks I knew. She would rather die than make a scene.

The gentleman who had been doing all the talking turned to me and said, "I have instructions to put you on your boat and make sure that you sail out of this harbor. If you do not do so, then you will be arrested for attempting to kidnap Mrs. Brettmann."

I got it, Brettmann wasn't nearly as clueless as I'd thought. He had figured out that I was Becks' real husband and he wanted me gone. Then he could go back to the enjoyable task of gaslighting my wife.

The clumsy attempt to sweep me under the rug totally nullified any moral obligation that I might have regarding our shared spouse. He had the authorities on his side and there was no way I could win in the current situation. But as I might have mentioned, I have a particular set of skills and Brettmann had just bought himself a one-way ticket to perdition. It was time to play dirty.

My boat was in the same general direction as the hotel. However, instead of turning onto the Carrer dels Apuntadors at the Placa de la Reine we walked down the Avenue D'Antoni Maura which led directly to the marina.

I had been passive throughout the entire stroll because they were -- in effect - throwing me back into the briar patch. I had to get to my hacking gear before I could make very bad things happen to all and sundry villains, and that was on the boat. But my luggage and Bastet were still at the hotel.

I protested, "You have to let me go back to the hotel to get my clothing and my cat."

The man said with a touch of dry sarcasm, "That has already been taken care of, Senor. My men did not appreciate your cat, if it is INDEED a cat and not a miniature leopard. Two of them are at the doctors right now having their wounds attended to." Apparently, Bastet had not gone quietly.

He added warningly, "If you return, you will be arrested on serious charges."

Wordlessly, I stepped up into the enclosed center cockpit of the Hylas and started the Yanmar diesel as his men cast me off. I reversed the engine and slowly backed out of the slip, turned on the running lights and headed southwest toward the distant Cala Figuera lighthouse and apparently out of their lives.

As soon as I passed the breakwater and into the Bay of Palma, I turned off the running lights and motored silently over to anchor close to the Isla de la Caleta, offshore from the Playa de Illetes district, southeast of Palma.

Bastet had been complaining loudly below decks all the time that I was doing that. Once I had a solid two-point anchorage I opened the companionway hatch and she shot past me looking for all the world like she wanted to continue the fight.

I laughed and said, "They're all gone." Bastet stared at me with the primal fury of her species flaming in her huge green eyes and said indignantly, "They put me in a cage!! It issss good that you killed them all, brother. It ssssaves me the trouble." Cats are never very far removed from the jungle.

With all the emotional turmoil of the evening it was still only 10:30. I poured myself a couple of fingers of Johnny Walker Blue to relax, lit a Cuban Cohiba and sat on the deck with my cat. Bastet was still fantasizing about ripping out intestines. I watched the lights come on in the hotels behind the Playa de Illetes. I had a long night in front of me and I wanted to take the time to think through the perfect plan.

It was obvious that my wife's memory was back, and I needed to get her on this boat and away from this place before her current husband got a shot at reprogramming her. I was beginning to suspect that her memory was starting to return in the normal fashion anyhow. But the person who she had trusted the most, her doctor and husband, was keeping her on a short mental leash.

I was about to snap that leash and make everybody pay in the process. I had a desktop tower on board that packed a 32-core AMD Ryzen Threadripper 3970X processor. That's enough compute power to make a black hole jealous. Thus, speed and time were irrelevant concepts to me. I also had a 100-megabit uplink that would let me work from anywhere on the planet, including the Bay of Palma.

I might be a tall skinny nerd in the real world, but I am a Lightforged Paladin in virtual space. It was time to rescue the fair maiden. Brettmann and his cronies wouldn't know what hit them.

****

The Palma authorities awoke to a blinking alert that said, "Critical Weather Warning." The link was an official Spanish Government URL. Most clicked on it which led to an error 404 message. That was such a commonplace happenstance that nobody thought about it until all of their systems went to Boofland.

Brettmann received several types of spearfishing messages including invitations to view TikTok videos on his various known interests, offers for a range of high-end products that he liked and an ominous inquiry from his bank marked "Personal and Confidential." He fell for the latter. Now I owned the man's entire life. The hacker population relies on folks clicking on links.

Meanwhile I'd spent most of the night motoring around to Pollensa on the other side of the island. I'd found Brettmann's mansion from a little easy-peasy internet research. It was where Becks was being "treated" for her delusions about having another husband - just off the Carrer de Formentor perhaps 200 yards from where I'd landed my Zodiac.

I was dressed like a casual tourist, and I was innocently lounging with my cat and my backpack propped against the high cement wall of Brettmann's compound. I had to be close to the house in order to complete my plans. I knew that Becks was in there. But I had no idea exactly where she was or how many people were minding her.

A Wi-Fi pineapple is a popular gadget for pen-testers because it's the evil twin that lets you steal a network. Still, it has limited range. So, I had to be in close proximity to the router. You create that proximity with a network repeater, and I happened to have one that fit nicely onto the collar of a cat.

Bastet is not the most cooperative animal. But she can be convinced to do anything if she thinks there is hunting involved. Bastet hissed as I tossed her over the wall, "When sssshould I bring back the kill, brother?" I said, "Just scout the place out for us. And return as soon as you can."