Three years have passed since young Josie Fortune tried to make some decisions that would have a bearing on the rest of her life. We first met her in Book One as a young, attractive and entirely convincing male to female transsexual.

Josie had to deal with the painful and awkward transition from being Joseph, while fending off corrupt politicians determined to murder her, earnest young men eager to bed her, and best friends who fell in love with her.

In seeking her own destiny she struggled to find what she needed to do rather than what others would have her do. We pick up the tale as she graduates from University and selects a rather unusual career path, ready to deal with whatever the world throws at her...

 

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
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The Legal Stuff: Changed Fortune © 2009, 2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Prologue
 
 
Someone was coming my way from the alley ahead of me, so I drew my gun and took cover behind the small ornamental wall. There was only one place the person could have come from at this time of night, so I believed that this could possibly be it!

It was dark, but I could hear the footsteps before I could see the person who made them. It had taken me several days, but I’d managed to locate the building, once I’d spent time learning the city and trying to figure out where I’d hide with a hostage. The local police, even with the language barrier, had been relatively indifferent, as they had a veritable war on their hands as far as crime was concerned, so were actually happy to allow me the freedom of their computer system if it meant they didn’t have to be involved so much with the investigation.

There was some political pressure on the local commander, but as their enquiries had reached a brick wall, the logical answer was to let me have what resources I needed (within reason) and give me free reign. Initially, all I needed was access to their intelligence computer and someone to help with the language. Rosetta was just one of the civilian intelligence analysts, but she was keen and ever so helpful. She’d always wanted to join the police, but her poor eyesight and very small physique barred her from the local department. This had been the next best thing, so she was more than willing to help me.

It had been she who had discovered this building, with the possible escape to the rear down this very alley. The triangulation on the last cell phone message had been the clincher, so I had told my boss as well as the local police chief. Leaving Rosetta at the office, I had made my way down here and was still awaiting some help.

I had been instructed to wait for back up before entering. I’d been lucky to get this far, so was excited at the possibility of breaking this case. I watched as the figure came into sight, reaching a pool of light from a single external light fixed to the wall. I relaxed slightly as I saw it was a woman. So far there was no evidence that a woman was involved, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Stop right there, don’t move, I’m armed and will shoot if you give me cause,” I said.
 
 
The woman stopped, starting slightly, so I could tell my presence surprised her. Firstly, she didn’t expect me to be here, secondly she didn’t expect me to be armed and waiting for her, but mainly I felt that she was taken aback because I was a woman.

As she turned towards my voice, very slowly, so I now realised how they’d managed to get past the surveillance team. This was no female, but a man dressed in women’s clothes. He stopped turning when I told him to, but then, as the tone and timbre of my voice sank home, he started to smile, pulling the gun from his belt in a practised, fluid movement. The chrome of the weapon gleamed evilly in the poor light, so I realised, with some trepidation, who I had in my sights.

However, I was acutely aware that others far more experienced than I had died by this weapon. He didn’t point it at me immediately, so it dawned on me that perhaps he couldn’t see me, as I was in deep shadows and behind the wall and he had just come from a reasonably well-lit building. Only my weapon, hand and part of my head were exposed, in any case.

“Go on, you stupid tart, fucking shoot me, coz if you don’t, I’ll fucking shoot you!” he said, with his eyes searching the darkness for a hint as to where I was hiding.
 
 
His accent was strange, for although he spoke English, he wasn’t from the UK. There was a slight Americanisation, but equally, there was also an accent that had more than a hint of German or Dutch; - South Africa or Zimbabwe perhaps. We knew precious little about him; a partial fingerprint here, a fuzzy photograph there, and crucially a hair and blood sample which gave us DNA.

I found the situation faintly ironic, for this was no camp transvestite, but someone using a disguise for a specific purpose. Back when I’d been ‘pretending’, I’d like to think that all my mannerisms and appearance would have been as feminine as possible, whereas this guy made no attempt to appear female, apart from the clothes, wig and shoes. He so nearly succeeded. The apparent contempt he had for me as a woman was considerable. Had I had time, I’d be interested to find out what he had against women, and why he held us in such utter contempt. But time was one thing I had very little of.

“Put the gun down. I will shoot you, believe me,” I said, feeling the tremors in my voice.

“You? A woman? Like fuck you will,” he said, making the word woman sound like an insult, Stepping closer towards me and raising his weapon, he sought me in the darkness. One more step and he’d see me.

I’m not sure who was more surprised, him or me. I was surprised at the noise even though I was prepared for it, but I think he was more surprised at the two holes that appeared in the centre of his chest, ruining his false breasts. I’ve watched countless movies, but the many times I’ve heard real gunshots, I often wonder how movie makers get away with it. Surely there’s something under the Trades Description Act, for the noise was truly deafening — literally.

He dropped the gun staggering backwards and falling with the impact, while looking at in my direction in surprised dismay, knocked off his feet by my two 9mm rounds hitting him.
 
 
Recalling my training and with my undefended ears still ringing, I immediately moved position and prepared to fire the next pair of shots, even though he was down and disarmed. I held my fire, as I could see he was no longer a threat, and I desperately needed him alive to give me the information I wanted.

I approached him, pointing my Glock at his perforated chest as I kicked his gun well out of his reach. Initially, I wasn’t certain that he wasn’t wearing body armour.

I soon discovered that he wasn’t, as his breath came in pink frothy bubbles and his hands were clawing at his wounds. His eyes met mine and he was frowning.

“You fucking shot me?” he rasped, his voice betraying utter disbelief along with the pain.

“You twat, I told you I would. Now, where’s the boy?”

“You fucking shot me!”

“Shut up about that and tell me where the boy is, or I’ll shoot you again!” I shouted at him. Knowing what he’d done and who he was meant I didn’t actually care about him, but I did care about the boy. I struggled to control my patience.

“I can’t get shot by a fucking woman!” he said in disgust, as his breathing got worse. Once again, I had to smile slightly at the irony of the situation, but thought the truth would be wasted on him.

“The boy, where’s the boy?” I asked, and held his head off the ground.

He looked back the way he had come, nodding his head slightly. Then his eyes rolled away and he was gone. I checked his pulse, curious to know what I’d feel like having taken a life.

I suppose I felt numb and pissed off, but I guessed the true feelings would come later.

“Shit!” I said to no one in particular, as I began to search for a way into the building. I could hear the wails of sirens, so I knew help, of sorts, was at hand, but I also knew that time was running out for the victim.
 
 
Chapter One
 
June 2006
 
It was hot and sticky in the great Guildhall of Portsmouth University. The rented gown and mortarboard didn't help, but it was a scorching day outside, and as the building was erected sometime in the Eighteenth century, they hadn't thought about air conditioning at that time. I resisted the urge to scratch my hair, as I’d spent ages getting it right for the ceremony.

By turning round, I could see my parents several rows from the rear, as my mother saw me, she gave me a small wave. I smiled back and turned to face the front.

Once the dreary speeches were concluded, we had the degree awarding ceremony, which seemed to take an age. Finally, they called out my name and I dutifully rose and walked to the stage to collect a rolled up parchment that said I was now the proud holder of a BSc (Hons) Criminology and Criminal Justice. Dad was disappointed that I missed a first, but I was pleased with a two-one.

Let’s face it: he was also disappointed that I’d deliberately chosen to go to any university other than Oxford. Portsmouth was nowhere near the same league as Oxford, but the course was exactly what I’d wanted and it was far enough away for me to leave Joseph and his past behind.

At last the proceedings finished there was almost a stampede out to get some fresh air. There were the expected farewell gatherings and photographs on the steps of the Guildhall, so I did my bit, posing for photos and saying goodbye to all those who seemed to want a great song and dance. There were some exceptions.

I’d shared a house in Southsea for the second and third years with two girl friends I’d met in halls in the first year. Janna, Lilly and I had very little in common, but we’d somehow just gelled. We were on three different courses and had initially three completely different sets of friends, but over the first year, we found we got on very well with each other. I was the organiser, which was obviously a hang-over from being a rep. Janna was the social secretary, as she adored sports and socialising, so seemed to know everyone important. Lilly was the studious one, who was more introverted than us, but once we’d encouraged her out of her shell, she’d blossomed into a stunningly attractive girl who was also outstandingly intelligent.

I was genuinely sad to say goodbye to them, as they’d been good friends to me. I’d kept my secret up until the start of the third year, and to my delight, initially neither believed me, and then stated that it didn’t matter in any case.

As for men...

Well, Stewart had traveled down a couple of times in the first year, but I think we both sensed that we’d each moved on further than we’d anticipated. We still saw each other in the holidays, but although still good friends, the sparkle had gone, which meant that I didn’t feel it right we get together, sexually, that is.

I met loads of men, many of whom showed great interest in me, or rather interest in screwing me. However, I was still searching for something or someone, and as neither appeared, I made many friends and never went to bed with any of them, which sent the wrong message to Janna. Lilly had a steady boyfriend called Rob who was at Southampton University. They’d get together at most weekends and we’d not see her until Monday morning.

Janna wasn’t so controlled for, as I discovered, she didn’t really care with whom she went to bed, male or female.

She made a pass at me when we got very drunk after a ladies' hockey match in which she’d been playing. I’d sort of gone along with her fumblings on the sofa until I realised what she was after.

I froze for a second, and thought, what the hell, so went along for the ride. It was fun, but not as good as with a bloke. The next morning she’d been terribly embarrassed so I told her my secret, as I suppose I’d been to bed with a girl before, only she was now a he.

“I’m sorry, Janna, but I’m not really into girls, so I suppose that was my way of finding out. If you don’t try, you’ll never know, eh?” I said.

She was still doing a goldfish impression.

“No way! No bloody way you were ever a man, Jojo. I’ve been with both, and you are a girl, believe me!”

I smiled, pleased with the compliment, so I then explained my life history, in brief.

“Does Lilly know?”

“No, not yet.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I suppose so. I may as well, now you know,” I said.

“Can I be there when you do?” was all she asked.

In the event, Lilly expressed surprise and then treated me exactly as before, which was exactly what I wanted. They both agreed never to mention it to anyone.

The University admin knew, as it was hardly something I could keep from them, but their equal opportunities policy meant that I was never highlighted nor put under any spotlight. Here I was, collecting my degree and as far as the world was concerned, I was just another normal young woman starting out in life. There was a GBLTG group somewhere within the university, which I avoided like the plague. Mind you, there always seemed to be loads of students dressing up in the clothing of the opposite gender, but relatively few, I guessed, were transgendered in any way.

The three of us said our farewells with a few tears, but with satisfied smiles, for we’d all succeeded and made good friendships. We swore not to lose touch and went our separate ways. My parents had come down in their big car, which we loaded to the gunwales with my clobber. With the remainder, I filled my own car, ironically, one of the new minis made by BMW at the old British Leyland site in Cowley, Oxford. I had been sad to see my old one go, but it had started to cost me too much in repairs and parts. Then we drove home in convoy.

It took me three whole days to get completely bored by Oxford and everything I’d run away from. My parents were lovely, but I felt hemmed in and threatened by my past life. It was nice to have a degree, but it had yet to impact my life. I still had no firm idea as to what I wanted to do for a career. Somehow becoming a police officer seemed a little humdrum and unappealing. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good career, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a uniform wandering the streets of one of our big cities or provincial towns. I couldn’t join the local force, for obvious reasons, and in any case I wasn’t that keen to go to start training school just after having finished three years at university.

All the police forces seemed to encourage the recruitment of members of ethnic minorities or even gays and the transgendered, however, I knew from several friends that the reality was that the serving officers weren’t thrilled by the prospect of working alongside the people the Headquarters were determined to recruit. Prejudices ran deep, no matter what government ministers said or wanted. I knew I could pass, but that wasn’t the issue. I wanted to live without fear of my past and having to pretend was no longer something I was prepared to do anymore.

Stewart was now working with Martin full time, and when I popped in to visit he seemed slightly reserved with me. We went for a drink at the local pub where he admitted he was seeing a girl he’d met a few weeks ago.

“I was going to write, but thought it best I wait until I saw you,” he said.

“Why, afraid I’d be angry or upset?” I asked.

“Possibly, but I believed that you deserved to hear it face to face. I never meant to hurt you, but I felt you were turning into someone different, someone I no longer know so well.”

“What did you expect, Stoo? I’m not the same person that went to school with you. Of course I’ve changed, as I’m now the person I wanted to be, even way back then. I’ve seen what both sides of the fence have to offer and I’m more than happy to be on this side for the rest of my life. I just don’t want to be tied into what used to be, as I’ve moved on.”

“I thought we could move together, was I so wrong?” he asked.

I felt awkward and a little guilty.

“Oh Stoo, what we have will never go away. We’re best friends, that can’t change. You know me better than anyone else in the world, even my parents. I value our friendship, but I don’t think we’re destined for a long term close relationship. Not just yet, that is. Unless you know better?”

He smiled sadly. “Maybe you’re right. I sort of held off getting close to Kath until I spoke with you.”

I laughed, as I’d been here before with Paul. I seemed destined to let others move on, while thinking it was me.
Strangely, the strongest feeling I experienced was one of relief. It was the last thread that connected me to this place and my old life, discounting my parents, that is. We passed a pleasant few minutes, but then I made my excuses and walked out of his love life without a backward glance. I’m sure we’d remain life-long friends, but not as lovers.

There was nothing for me here anymore, and there was only one person I could think of to ask.
 
 
“Josie, what a lovely surprise. What can I do for you?” Commander Michael Hutchings said when I called him.

“Congratulations on the promotion, by the way,” I said.

“Ah well, all good things come to those who wait. Besides, I think a few years running Special Branch will do me up until I retire and disappear off to my little farm in France.”

“Do me a favour, men like you never retire, as they all become security consultants and disappear into the intelligence services,” I said, laughing.

“You’ve become rather too worldly and cynical whilst at university, my dear.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I was cynical long before that. Being what I was can warp one somewhat.”

“I appreciate that, but let’s skip the chit chat, why the call?”

“I need some career advice,” I admitted.

“Given up on the police?”

“More or less, you see, I just don’t think I want to go back to school and be a beat bobby for a couple of years. I’m sort of beyond that.”

“Everyone starts at the bottom, my dear.”

“I know, but at the bottom of what? You see, for most girls, there’s the ultimate goal of finding a husband and having a family, so you see, I’m slightly different.”

“Lots of women can’t conceive, what’s the difference? You could still lead a remarkably normal life if you wanted to.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Ah, I see. I can’t say I blame you. Coppers can be very hard people to prove yourself to, and I can see how you could feel your past is something you’d rather not have as an issue. It’s something that a good lawyer could find out and drop into a cross examination, just to shake you and the prosecution. Well perhaps you could come and see me, as I think I may know a man who could help you.”

“Do what?”

He chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“Let me put it this way, if you went to work for him, I might end up seeing you again, as a consultant perhaps,” he said.

“You mean MI5?”

“Either them or one of the other departments. They’ll take a long hard look at you and decide where best your talents lie.”

“When?”

“Let me see, do you have the same phone number?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll call you. I imagine it will be next week sometime, okay?”

“Thanks, that’s kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it. I rather believe you’ll do well, it’s a pity you can’t come straight to SB, but that’s the way of life.”

I came off the phone feeling slightly better about life. Indeed, I experienced a tingle of excitement about the unknown future I now faced. I’d never imagined myself as a secret agent, but then I’d probably end up working as a data analyst or something.

Needless to say my father was hardly enamoured with my possible career choice. However, he recognised that his newer daughter was hardly likely to settle down to an orthodox life.
 
 
Chapter Two
 
 
I sat outside the office and tried to calm my shattered nerves. I was dressed smartly in a skirt, blouse and jacket, hoping to make the right impression. Well, it was all over now, as my interview, if that’s what it was, was now a thing of the past. It was two weeks since my meeting at New Scotland Yard with Commander Hutchings. Actually, that sounds rather grand, but I never went into the building, for we met in a little coffee shop just round the corner.

He was interested in my degree and tried to persuade me to reconsider the police.

“I’m sure I can get you an inside track to SB if you wanted it in a couple of years?”

“Can I hold you to that?” I asked.

“Yes, but not for too long, as I’m not sure how long I shall be here for.”

He then told me about a selection meeting for me in Whitehall for the security service.

“It will be harder than Hendon,” he pointed out.

“In what way?”

“In every way,” he said.
 
 
I’d arrived at this faceless building in Whitehall to be met by a very dapper man in a pinstripe suit and regimental tie. He was tall and ramrod straight, so I assumed the tie wasn’t an affectation. I guessed his age was around sixty, but as he was almost totally bald and what little hair he had was very short and fair, he could have been younger. He introduced himself as Humphrey Maynard and described his role as ‘something in the intelligence game’.

I had to suppress the giggles, as I immediately saw the parallel as the ubiquitous Sir Humphrey from the TV show, Yes Minister. I followed him through the modernised building, along carpeted corridors and glancing into offices that seemed dominated by computers and subdued lighting.

He took me to a comfortable office at the back of the building overlooking Horse Guards where we had an informal chat over a cup of coffee. It seems he knew far more about me than I knew was in the public domain. In fact, there were almost things he knew about me that even I didn’t!

Michael Hutchings must have told him everything, and I mean everything. We spoke at length about the case of the crooked MP and then my various jobs.

“You seem to have had more than your fair share of excitement, how do you feel you coped with being targeted by assassins?” he asked, changing the subject.

“At the time, I hadn’t much choice. People said I was brave, but it wasn’t a case of that, I just got on with my life. I trusted those who were given the task of protecting me, and I like to think I have become more aware of what’s going on around me and of the people that I wouldn’t have bothered about before.”

“How do you feel about who you are now?”

I suppressed a smile. I knew they’d ask, even though I’d been told that they weren’t allowed to bring up gender issues in the actual interview. This wasn’t the interview, was it?

“I’m completely content at being a female. I have no regrets at all,” I answered, completely honestly.

“There are some who would say that having experienced what you have would be a disadvantage. How would you respond?”

“Experienced what? The attacks or the gender issue?” I asked, meeting his stare.

I noted he smiled.

“The latter.”

“I’d tell them that I never asked for the problem. I found myself living a lie and took steps to rectify it. One has to realise that it took prime position in every aspect of my life, so I rarely had a minute, let alone an hour or a day, when I didn’t think about the problem in one way or another. One becomes strong and able to deal with life, regardless of the burning urges one experiences. I think that must be an advantage, to set aside a type of pain or distraction and still manage to do what is expected of you to a high standard.”

“I think I agree, but do you not feel disadvantaged by having the distraction in the first place?”

“I lived in a competitive world, through school, university and in life generally. I like to think I have succeeded as well as I would have done had I not had the problem. If I were placed in a situation where I had a job to do and there was something causing me a distraction, I believe that I could deal with the distraction and get on and do what is expected of me. Those who haven’t had to deal with such things may not be so successful.”

He nodded, scratching his balding head. He had no notes or any information sheets, so I was impressed by his ability to recall facts and keep this ‘conversation’ on track.

“You’ve had several relationships since, ah, since becoming what you are now. Do you believe that honesty is important in a relationship?”

“In other words, did I tell them about me? Yes, both to the honesty and yes to the unasked question. I told all those with whom I had a deep relationship that looked as if it could become serious. As for the few men with whom I’ve had sex with on a slightly more casual basis, no, I didn’t. It had nothing to do with honesty, but everything to do with me being normal. I’m not stupid, as I realise that my history will affect the way people treat me, so I have to exercise exceptional judgement. The question dealt with relationships, so if I was entering a relationship, I’d like to think I’d be honest at the outset, otherwise things could turn nasty later. I’d rather deal with rejection early on, as to deal with it at the altar would be rather too traumatic, even for me.”

This elicited another smile from my questioner.

“Why did you decide against joining the police? Surely having the encouragement and help from someone like the Commander of SB would do your chances of advancement no harm at all.”

“I haven’t completely decided against it, as it will always be an option. However, I’ve just finished twelve years of schooling, followed by three years of university, so I’m not desperately eager to go off to training school to four or five months, only to spend two years dealing with drunks, fights, domestics and road accidents. The public face of policing is also a potential problem for me.”

“In what way?”

“As Commander Hutchings reminded me, if my past is an open book, then not only is that information freely available to the internal police machine, but also, potentially, to defence lawyers and the press. I’d hate to get to a crucial point in a criminal case or my career and have the whole thing erupt in my face, which I believe I could weather but don’t actually believe I want to. It could damage either my career prospects or the case. You see, I’m not naíve enough to believe that the police are free of prejudice and I know that I would have to work twice as hard as anyone else not only to become accepted, but to make decent headway.”

“Are you certain of this, or could it be something that exists in your mind only?”

“No I’m not certain, but I’d like to think I have a reasonable grasp of the harsh realities.”

“The police would offer you an excellent career,” he insisted.

“I’m acutely aware that it’s an important job, and I have the utmost respect for those who do it, but I’m hoping for something more.”

“Like?” he asked, regarding me with some interest.

I thought for a moment. I’d guessed that this would be asked, so I formulated my answer.

“It’s hard to explain. We take so much for granted that it made me wonder about certain things. I mean, who really protects us? I know the government exists to keep things in motion, but there’s so much we don’t see. MPs and other civil servants keep the ball rolling, but what about when the wheel comes off and there’s some dirty work to do that no one wants to know about? I mean, some things can be dealt with openly by the police, other agencies and military, but what about the other, rather nasty things that we don’t want dragged through the press or courts? Most of these things can be prevented by knowing as much as possible about as much as possible, so that’s why intelligence work appeals to me. Someone once said that knowledge is power. I believe it, but only if the right people have the knowledge and do the right thing. I actually believe in this country, but rather than sit back and let others do the dirty work and pretend it doesn’t happen, I’d like to do my part, if I can that is.”

“Hmm, what is the right thing?”

I smiled, as he was far more astute than he looked.

“The right thing is what protects the sovereignty and safety of this nation. It is not always possible to protect everyone, but that’s why people in responsible positions have to make tough decisions,” I said, knowing I was bullshitting.

He smiled again.

“What about you, if you are placed in a situation whereby you know that you have to make a decision and that regardless of which way you go, someone might be harmed, what will you do?”

“I can’t say, not just like that. However, I believe that, using whatever knowledge I have at the time, I hope I’d make the right decision that would be justified by the outcome.”

“Could you directly or indirectly harm another?”

“I think I have already. The men who came after me, their families and even that first man who came into my shop all were harmed because of actions I took or didn’t take.”

“That’s different, as there were others more responsible for the situation than you.”

“You say so, but had I done one thing another way, then things might have been very different. I made decisions based on what I knew. In the end, they proved to be the right decisions, so I’ve learned to trust my judgement.”

“Yes, but could you kill someone?”

“Is that a prerequisite for the job?” I asked with a smile. Before he could answer, I continued. “Yes, if I believed that if I did not, then my life or the life of someone else would be in danger, I could.”

“You seem certain?”

“I am. I thought about this a lot when things were tough, so expected the question, but in the end, I’ll only find out if I have to.”

“What if there was no immediate danger to you or another, but the individual concerned's very existence was a serious threat to our freedoms?” he asked.

“You want me to take out Bin Laden already?” I asked, joking.
 
 
Fortunately, he smiled, so I continued. “I’m not sure. I think I’d like to know exactly what the nature of the threat was and if this was the only means of averting it. If it was just a case of obeying an order, I’m not certain anyone is justified in ordering another to kill, unless there are exceptional and very sound reasons for doing so. I’d need to be convinced that it was imperative.”

“Soldiers do it every day,” he reminded me.

“I accept that, on the field of battle or in situations where it is acceptable. When we sent in the SAS to take out suspected IRA terrorists, like the Gibraltar incident, everyone screamed how wrong it was.”

“Was it wrong?”

“Knowing what we know no, probably not, but we are rarely given the benefit of hindsight.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“As I said, I’d need to know it was essential.”

“So, you’d do it?” he asked.

I smiled, meeting his eyes.

“Yes, if you convinced me I had to and there was no other way.”

Oh fuck! I thought, I’ve just failed. I’ve come over as a gung-ho fool who just wants to kill people.

“Right, they’re ready for you now, so come with me,” he said, rising.

“Ready for me?” I stammered.

“Yes, the selection board.”

“I thought you…” my voice trailed off.

“Me, good God, no. This was just a helpful little chat so I can get to know you a little.”

I followed him along the corridors again until we came to a large conference room. Seated on the far side of the mahogany table were three people, two men and a woman. All looked up as I entered alone, as Humphrey had simply opened the door and allowed me to enter.

The man in the centre invited me to sit in the only chair available. I sat.

The questions started off innocuously, rather like many job interviews. What did I know about the Intelligence services? What research had I done? What skills did I think were needed, and what skills could I bring? What were my weaknesses and strengths, how did I work as a team member and could I work by myself?

I dealt with them all as best I could, but then the weird ones started; the hypothetical situations. Some were silly, but each had one thing in common, they wanted to see how I made decisions and whether I was decisive or impulsive. They were also keen to understand how I solved problems. I hope I dealt with them adequately.
 
 
After what seemed a short time, the woman asked me some personal questions about my current situation.

“Are you in a relationship at the moment?” she asked.

“No. I’ve just split with my boyfriend. We’re still friends though.”

“This is a delicate question, and you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, but as you are applying for a sensitive occupation that may bring you into the realm of national security, do you feel your past makes you vulnerable?”

“No more than anyone else. As you’ve asked the question, you will know everything there is to know. I’ve no secrets and although entitled to a private life, I certainly don’t intend to stand on a soapbox and make a noise about my past. I don’t actually believe it’s relevant, so just want to be accepted for who I am now, not who I was.”

“Do you not feel that if successful, you must accept certain limitations and restrictions on your private life?”

“That happens in many walks of life. I’m aware of the restrictions and accept them. Such is the price for the nature of the job. I’d still rather have these restrictions than those of a famous celebrity who can’t even pop to the shops because of the paparazzi."

The woman glanced at her colleagues, both of whom nodded and then the chairman asked if there were any questions I had for them.

“None. I’d just like to thank you for giving me an opportunity to do something different. I understand that not everyone is successful, but appreciate that my past may be awkward for you. I’d just like to show you it isn’t an issue for me, as I like to believe that I’m surprisingly normal,” I said, instantly regretting it, but she’d made me angry.

Now I sat outside and tried to calm down. I was surprised to learn that an hour had gone by while I was in there. It only seemed a few minutes.

Someone sat next to me. It was Humphrey.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“I lost my temper. She asked about my past and I stupidly got cross.”

“Did you show it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I’ve had lots of practice at hiding my emotions.”

“Apart from that?”

“Okay, I suppose. Time flew past, but I think I answered everything.”

“Oh, you did, remarkably well, by all accounts.”

“So, did I make any awful blunders?”

“Not that they said.”

“Who are they?”

“The Chairman is director of a department here at MI5, the other man is the senior training officer for all the service.”

“And the woman?”

“She’s from the human resources department.”

“I won’t have to work for her, will I?” I asked, making a face.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“She didn’t like me. I could tell,” I said.

“I don’t think she’s ever met a post-op transsexual before. I don’t think you met her expectations.”

“Oh, what were they, then?”

“Not what you are.”

“What’s that?” I asked, feeling cheeky.

“A well presented young woman of remarkable intelligence, common sense and humour, perhaps three things that she would find difficult to identify in a mirror.”

I laughed, relaxing slightly.

“When will I hear?” I asked.

“You just have. Welcome to the club,” he said with a smile and offering me his hand.

I shook his hand and thanked him.

“Not at all, my dear, but there is one thing,” he said.

“Yes?”

“The name, it has to go.”

“Name?” I said, feeling stupid.

“Yes, Miss Fortune, I appreciate it’s your name, but I don’t think it’ll help you in your chosen path. Besides, I don’t think you want to shine out and be easily traced back to you know what.”

It had never dawned on me. Oh, I’d teased Jess about it when we grew up, and even when people called me Miss Fortune, I never thought about the other meaning.

“Oh.”

“Is this a problem?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I’d not thought of it like that.”

“No rush, talk it over with your family. I can’t force you, but I do believe you need a fresh break and things like names tend to be a dead giveaway for those keen to back track. The un-fortunate synonym is neither here nor there, although I know of a couple of slightly superstitious fools who’d make something from it,” he said, smiling as he said the words.
 
 
Chapter Three
 
August 2006
 
“Again, Miss, if you’d be so kind!”

I looked up, out of the mud at my tormentor.

“Again?” I spluttered.

“And today, if that’s all right with you,” he said, smiling at my discomfort.

I knew better than to argue or make a fuss. Wearily, I dragged myself to my feet, hefted the pack onto my back and returned to the start of the confidence course. This would make my fifth circuit and so my shoulders ached abominably from the straps of the twenty kilo pack of rocks, and I was bathed in sweat from both the exertion and hot sun. I, together with twelve others, nine men and three women, were undertaking several weeks’ training at Hereford. There had been over thirty of us at the start, back in July, but over the last seven weeks they’d whittled us down to just thirteen.

During the first couple of weeks we’d seen the bulk of drop-outs, as all we seemed to do was run and clamber over obstacles until we literally dropped from exhaustion. Then we went onto the ranges and learned to shoot, as well as the clambering and running. First of all we were given SLPs and went through the basics. After a week of firing Glocks or Sigs, we moved onto H&K MP5s. Once we were proficient with them we familiarised ourselves with all manner of firearms and moved to explosives, as well as the clambering and running. I’d never been fitter in my life, as with my skiing and stuff, I thought I was pretty fit. I was wrong.

I thoroughly enjoyed the first part of the course, and my favourite handgun was the Glock 17. However, it wasn’t to last, as we then were trained in self defence, progressing to how to kill someone with bare hands or innocuous items such as credit cards and pens, sometimes as well as clambering and running.

The next phase involved us learning some basic psychology and instruction on body language; watching others and controlling our own. After a lecture and demonstration on survival in the wild, we were dropped, in groups of four, at midnight somewhere in the mountains. Our task was simply to get back to the camp without being seen by the instructors who would be out looking for us, or the local police who’d been told we were likely to try to get back. I guessed we were now in Wales, but didn’t know for sure. The truck that brought us seemed to be driving for over an hour, but it could have gone in circles for all we knew. There was no time limit, but the closer we got and longer it took before being discovered would determine whether we passed or failed this module.

We seemed to be miles from human habitation, and all we had was the clothes on our backs and boots on our feet - no compass, no matches, no food or water, and no mobile phone! I was grateful that it was August, so it wasn’t cold and it was getting light already.

The three others with whom I was grouped were all men, and one was ex-army. He assumed leadership without hesitation, but after a couple of daft decisions that led us into a marsh, we had an argument. The men nearly came to blows, so I ended it with a suggestion.

“Look, we can’t spend all night squabbling, let's move to higher ground, look at the stars and go in one direction until we come to a track or path,” I said. Colin, the ex-soldier was in a huff and almost walked off on his own, but I persuaded him to stay. After an hour we came to a track, which eventually took us to the back of a small farm.

We stayed in the trees and watched. It was around five am, but there were lights on and movement in the farm house. A dog barked in one of the outhouses.

“I say we go in and ask for some food and water,” said John, the youngest of the group.

I disagreed.

“No, we can’t afford to be seen. The whole point of this is to survive and get back without being seen by anyone or captured by the instructors. This must be a regular thing, so all the farms will be warned to expect groups of people like us, so probably have a hot line to the base so we’d be caught in a jiffy. No, I think we scout around to see if we can find out where we are, and then we can decide which way to go to get back.”

The farm was no help, but the old beaten up Land Rover sitting out the back was. In the glove box, on an old envelope, was the address of the farm. We were at a place called Abergwesyn, but the postal town was Llanwrtyd Wells, which was about four miles south. I smiled, as I had a friend who used to live near here, so knew roughly where we were.

“Hereford is sixty miles away by road, probably only forty overland.”

“Over land, shit Jo, it’s all bloody mountains and rivers. We could never walk across country,” said John.

“Why don’t we nick the Land Rover?” said Colin.

It wasn’t a bad idea, but being arrested for theft of a vehicle wasn’t part of the plan. The others were up for it, but I refused. We had another argument.

“Look, let’s walk the four miles down the road. We should be there before six, so there won’t be that many people about. I bet the instructors will be out looking for us, so we have to walk off the road, just in the woods. Besides, look at the state of the Land Rover, it looks as if it wouldn’t last four miles, let alone sixty!” I said.

Reluctantly, they agreed and we set off. Just as we passed a small church, half way down the road, I say a flash of green on the road.

“Hide!” I said, leaping into some bushes. The others followed.

Sure enough, round the bend came an Army Land Rover with two instructors sitting in the front. One was Sergeant MacLean.

“See,” I said, “They would have caught us in the Land Rover for sure.”
 
 
We continued cautiously to the main road, to what is called the smallest town in the UK. It was little more than a village, but they had a town council, so thought themselves a town. We even passed my friend’s old home, it was a pity they’d moved; otherwise we could have got some food and a lift.

All was quiet in the town, with one or two cars hissing along the all but deserted main road. The camp, or base, was the old air force station RAF Hereford, just to the north of Hereford itself. We had several choices, hitching a lift by road north-east to Builth Wells and then to Hereford, or south-west to Llandovery, then to Brecon, then up to Hereford. Thirdly, we could cut across country on foot, in which case it could take us days.

“Stuff this!” I said, taking off my denim jacket. “I’ve an idea!”

Twenty minutes later, I was wearing a denim mini-skirt, or rather a mini-kilt, that threatened to fall down if I moved, and my white singlet that I’d been wearing under my jacket. The boots were military, but strangely in vogue for young women.

I stood by the road just outside town, with my thumb extended for traffic heading north. The guys were in the bushes behind me.

A large German articulated truck stopped, but as the driver leaned out to talk to me, my colleagues were clambering into the cab’s passenger door on the offside.
I explained to the poor driver exactly what we were doing. Once he calmed down, he was okay with it, and we trundled north to Builth Wells. We left the lorry just to the north of the town and skirted around to repeat the trick to another truck to Hereford. This time we crammed into an empty removal lorry heading off to do a pickup in Hereford itself.

They caught us three miles from the camp. It was all Colin’s fault, as he persuaded the other men that we should skirt round the town centre. I proposed to use the bus and travel straight through the town, and get off at the bus stop a few hundred yards from the turning to the camp. Sergeant MacLean was parked in his Land Rover near an industrial estate on the route we took, and so we were nabbed. Colin and the two other men decided to try to run away, but I just sank to my knees and put my hands on top of my head. They were rough, but less so with me than with the other three.

I was gutted that we were caught, particularly as I hadn’t been keen of that route, but we’d managed to get farther much quicker than any other group, so went to celebrate with a hot shower and huge late breakfast.

That was in the early stages. My tormentor at this moment was a training sergeant in the SAS and I’m sure he wasn’t as polite to those unfortunate soldiers who came through his hands. For the next excruciating twenty minutes, I clambered over walls, along others, swung through trees on ropes, climbed up, slithered down and across other ropes at varying degrees of angle, ending with a death slide over a pond and then through a tunnel under twenty foot of water. For the first time since my operation I actually wished for some testosterone to give me some extra power. By the time I emerged from the tunnel for the fifth time, I hadn’t even the strength to look up at him, but simply waited for his demand that I do it again.

“Right Miss, why don’t you pop off to the showers now? It’s almost tea time,” he said, as he turned round and walked off.

Disbelieving, I stared at his back. He kept on going, so I managed to stand up, totter gingerly back to my barrack hut and strip off my stinking and sodden clothes, which I left in a heap in the corner by the door. I had my own room, but we women shared the shower and toilet facilities. I hadn’t a clue where my colleagues were, as I’d long since learned that we were all being tested and trained for different things, even though we knew nothing about who was destined to do what or where. I was no longer surprised when someone no longer attended a lecture or a meal, for failure was the instant ticket back to the real world. Sometimes failure was very tempting!

I just enjoyed standing under the hot water and eased my aching muscles. I was still there when an equally dirty, damp and exhausted face peered around the door. It was Carol. At least that’s the name she used here, just like I was supposed to be Joannah Fuller, allegedly working in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office records section as a clerk. None of us really knew what future job beaconed, just like all the other details we’d been made to learn were equally false.

I quite liked being Joannah as it meant I could shorten it to Jo and still answer to it without having to think

“Hi, Jo, any water left?”

“Yup, but don’t leave it too long, as the blokes will take it all.”

She joined me in the next door stall.

“God, I’m completely fucked!” she said, sitting on the floor of the shower.

“Bummer, I wish I’d got your course,” I said.

“Not literally, mores the pity, but they ran me for fifteen miles, the bastards!” she said.

“I had that three days ago. You think you’ve finished but they take you past the gate for another three miles!”

“I hate that bastard MacLean!”

I smiled, as Staff Sergeant MacLean was a particularly sadistic s.o.b. when he wanted to be. They were all very polite, but my God, they made us work.

At that moment, some men in black clothing and wearing balaclavas burst into the shower room, dragging both of us, naked, out of the showers and placing canvas hoods over our heads. I tried to resist by lashing out with my foot. I think I connected with a groin, as there was a satisfying grunt in response. However, in return I got punched in the face, not softly either.

“Cunt! Behave,” a male voice said.

I tasted the salt of my own blood and felt my teeth chip. I stopped struggling. We were then hauled, naked and wet, out of the hut and into the back of a waiting truck. I was stunned and shocked, and even though in the back of my mind I knew it was part of the course, I still felt terrified. What if it wasn’t?

Carol grabbed me as were lay on the floor of the truck, holding my arm and trying to pull herself closer to me, but we were dragged roughly apart. I heard her sobbing a few feet away. My mind went back to our briefing on that first day.

A Lieutenant Colonel welcomed us and told us what to expect. So far he’d been right, but then he warned us of some lessons in objectivity.

“You are here until you pass. There are no set lengths for your courses, as we find that setting time-frames gives you the edge, and we wouldn’t want that. You are here until you fail or until you reach a standard that is acceptable and you will leave here knowing that you’ve passed. Please understand, that for us to allow you to leave if you are not of the required standard, we would be simply putting you firmly in harm’s way.

“You and I work for the same mistress, and although Her Royal Highness hasn’t a clue what we actually do on her behalf, she demands certain sacrifices, and one of those is what most academics term being civilised. The chances are that, for the most part, most of you will never be placed in harm’s way, but then if there is even a slight chance, it will pay for you to be prepared. Unfortunately, the only way to prepare you may seem slightly barbaric, but unless you know what to expect, there is no way you can be prepared.

“So, ladies and gentlemen, this is your one and only briefing, so listen and understand. The files that sit on my desk are all we know about you. Your real names and personal details are confidential and to be perfectly honest, we don’t either want to know or need to. We know the names you are using are not your real ones, and there is good reason for this, as it is necessary that your attendance here is never traceable. Therefore, you must keep to what only we know. There may be attempts, either directly or indirectly through subterfuge to ascertain your true identities. If we succeed then you fail and will leave this establishment and look for a new job in civvie street. There are no rules, except we shall endeavour not to do any lasting damage to you, but it is essential that you stick to what we know, regardless of how sneaky and underhand we may become.

“We don’t know who your enemies will be, but believe me, they won’t be nice and polite and take no for an answer. They will use every trick in the book, and may even invent some new ones. From this moment on, you must be on your guard. Remember, when you are at your lowest you are at your most vulnerable!”

Vulnerable!

As I lay naked and shivering on the hard floor of the truck, I couldn’t actually imagine myself any more vulnerable than at this precise moment. The initial terror passed; I felt strangely detached as it was just so unreal. It was only a glorified game and all I had to do was stay in character and hang in there. It wasn’t real, no matter how real and frightened it felt, so the trick was to hold onto that truth and not let myself forget.

The problem was that I think Carol was in danger of forgetting, so I hoped we’d be separated as soon as possible. I tried to listen to any conversation by our ‘captors’, but they weren’t going to give me the satisfaction.

I knew that they’d all done this before, so knew the drill. There would be those victims who’d create and those who’d give in, but then there were others who’d stay silent, but I didn’t think that would help.

Keep to what they knew, that was the only way through this. Don’t add, embellish or change anything, and certainly don’t give away anything that was true.
 
 
The truck lurched to a halt and the tailgate dropped with a resounding bang. We were pulled from the truck and half dragged and half allowed to walk the short distance to some form of building. The door sounded think and heavy when it slammed shut behind us. I heard Carol being dragged away as I was pushed into another room, again the door slammed behind me.

My wrists were bound with duct tape and then a chain was looped through the bindings as I was lifted onto tiptoe from the ceiling. I still had the bag over my head

“We’ll be back, bitch!” said the same voice as before.

The footsteps retreated, the door opened and closed and I was left in silence.

I sensed that someone was still here, but gave nothing away, for knowledge is power and I didn’t want them to know anything that I knew that they didn’t know I knew.

I allowed myself to relax, permitting the chain to take my weight. I wasn’t comfortable, but then I wasn’t that cold either. I simply breathed deeply and let my aching muscles relax. On hearing the faintest noise, of material moving against material, I became mentally alert and prepared myself for some form of attack.

It still surprised me when it came, in the form of a jet of cold water.

So much for not being cold!

Whoever was there said nothing, simply drenched me and then left the room. This time I was convinced I was really alone.

Within the constraints of my chains, I started doing some exercises to keep warm. I thought back to the PT sessions and literally ran through everything they had us do. I was tired, aching and cold, but I wasn’t afraid. Despite being tired, I kept the exercises going, counting out loud and pushing myself steadily. I didn’t know how long this was going to take, so I kept to a steady and manageable pace, feeling some warmth come back into my aching bones. I started to sweat, so I knew that when I stopped, then there was a danger of getting cold again, so I just slowed my pace and kept going.

I lost track of time. Then I recalled the lecture on interrogation techniques and remembered that this was a tactic to disorientate the subject. They knew what they were talking about, as it worked!

I was still doing the exercises when the door opened again. I assumed that I was under observation so they were probably pissed off that I wasn’t keeping to the script. Otherwise, why keep the hood on me? They had to be able to see me without me knowing.

I stopped as the footsteps approached. Suddenly bright light glared in my face as the bag was removed.

“You’ve failed, we know who you are,” said a new voice in my ear.

There were three figures in the room, all male and all wearing balaclavas.

“My name is Joannah….!”

I stopped as I received a slap across my face. It stung and I gave an involuntary yelp.

“Fucking shut up! Did I say you could speak?”

I shook my head, not falling into the trap of replying.

“Your name isn’t Joannah Fuller, and well you know it. Now, if you want to speak, tell us your real name!”

I stayed silent.

“I told you to speak!”

“My real name is Joannah Fuller,” I said, very quietly.

I was expecting it this time, but not from the other direction. I simply shut up and waited with my head down for them to do what they wanted. No matter what I said, they wouldn’t be happy, so I said nothing.

The slaps continued, every now and again, I simply repeated, “My name is Joannah Fuller.” But they beat me anyway.

Once more, I lost track of time, but they left me alone, this time leaving the hood off. The room was square and bare, with a single light bright light on the high ceiling. About a foot from the light was the chain on a pulley. I started looking for a camera, but didn’t have time.

The light went off, plunging me into darkness. This time I hurt and was shivering with cold. It took all my will power to restart the exercises once again, but this time, I went through the regime very slowly.

The next time they came for me, I was exhausted, but not so cold.

“All right you, you’re leaving, go get a shower,” the voice said.

“No thanks. I’ve just got dry.”

A hand grabbed my hair from behind and gave a painful yank.

“Don’t fucking argue, you will have a shower,” he said, undoing the chain and pushing me out of the door. More hands grabbed me and manhandled me to another room, which was tiled, floor to ceiling. They pushed me under a shower head and to my surprise warm water came out, so I made the most of it, revelling in my luck, but knowing that there must have been a catch.

The catch came a few moments later as a man grabbed me and pushed me face first into a bath full of icy cold water. It gave me an awful shock, so that I took in a mouthful of water. I tried to get up, but a hand held me under the water. I slumped deliberately and stopped struggling.

It worked, for rough hands heaved me upwards, allowing me to take a lungful of air, coughing and spluttering as I did so.

“Now, tart, your name?” said the rough one, the one who’d done most of the talking and slapping so far.

“Joannah Fuller, as you well know.”

I was almost ready this time, so took a breath before they put me under. Once again, I struggled a bit and then relaxed, feigning a lack of consciousness.

This time they weren’t fooled, for they left me for a very long time. I’d once held my breath for two minutes in the school swimming pool, so hung on for as long as I could. Just as my lungs were bursting and my eyes threatened to pop out of my skull, someone heaved me up, so I drew in as much air as I could.

“Oh, you tricky bitch, like this do you?”

Down I went again, and this time I didn’t have to feign anything. They repeated it time and time again. I actually passed out twice.
 
 
This went on for a long time. I felt sick, headachy and totally panicky, but I managed to hold out.

They dragged me back to the first room and threw me onto the floor, chucking an old and rather smelly blanket on top of me. I simply wrapped myself up as tightly as I could and fell asleep in the dark. I think I cried.

The light came on and eventually I was sufficiently awake to be aware of my surroundings. As I started to look around, the light went off. That meant they did have a camera on me. I curled up and tried to go back to sleep, just as I was dropping off, the light came on again. This went of for a long time, so I gave up looking for a camera, shut my eyes and tried to ignore the light.

It must have worked, for rough hands woke me up sometime later. The way I felt it could have been ten minutes of ten hours, I had no way of knowing how long it had been.

This time I was hauled out of the cell and sat on a chair in yet another small room. They let me keep the blanket, but I put my head on my arms on the table in front of me.

The table was removed, forcing me to sit unaided.

I felt like shit and almost jacked it in then and there.

The man came over and sat a few feet away from me. I stared through the holes in his mask at his eyes.

“Look, let’s not be unreasonable. If you simply tell me your real name, you can go to a nice warm bed and have a hot cup of tea. What do you say?” he said.

“My name is Joannah Fuller. How can I tell you anything else?”

He seemed to slump slightly, but then he lashed out, kicking the chair out from under me. By some remarkable stroke of luck, I was able to stay on my feet as the chair skidded across the room.

My temper broke, so I screamed at him.

“I’m fucking Joannah Fuller, so go away and leave me alone, you sadistic bastard. I’m not saying another word, so kill me or fucking let me go!”

I walked over to where my chair ended up, picked it up and sat down, folding the blanket around me and without turning my back to him, stared at him, as if daring him to do something.

“You’ll give in, you know?” he said.

I stared at him, shaking my head.

“They all do.”

I said nothing.

“You’ll want to sleep and for the pain to go away. You’ll have to tell me.”

The devil in me made me raise one finger at him.

“Swivel!” I said.

His eyes crinkled, so I knew I’d got to him, for behind that black balaclava the bastard was smiling.

Looking back on it, I think I knew I’d won from that moment. Oh, it wasn’t the end. The shoved me around and took my blanket away, but I sensed their hearts weren’t in it any more, even though it was bloody awful. There was a moment when one of the men who hadn’t said anything grabbed me by a breast.

Leaning close to me, he whispered, “How do you fancy a real man?”

“Do you know one?” I asked, for which I got a slap and he pushed me onto the floor. I was naked, but somehow it didn’t make any difference.

“Go on, fucking rape me if it makes you feel like a proper man!” I said.

He didn’t. Instead he took me back to the cell with the chains and left me on the floor with the blanket. I slept a little.
 
 
It was a waft of fresh coffee that woke me. On opening my eyes I saw a pair of gleaming boots; the NCO who owned them was holding a mug of coffee and seemed to be offering it to me. I didn’t recognise him, but my mind was focussed on the coffee. For some reason I heard the colonel saying, …………. “Remember, when you are at your lowest, that is when you are at your most vulnerable!”

“Cup of coffee, Miss?” the sergeant said.

I simply took it before he withdrew the offer, burning my battered mouth with the first gulp. It was utterly gorgeous!

“If you’re ready, I’m to escort you back to your quarters. There’s been a phone call, apparently your sister called.”

“My sister?”

“Yes, Jessica, it seems there’s a problem with your father.”

Alarm bells rang, as my false details told me I had one brother and no sisters.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a sister, you must have the wrong person,” I said.

"Don't fuck about, love, this is for real. Your father's been taken to the John Radcliffe," he said, not unkindly.

The mention of Oxford's main hospital almost got me. But Jessica was in the states, so if anything happened to Dad, it would be Mum who'd call, not Jess. So I guessed that they'd been given one or two true facts about me, so they could use them to try to throw me.

Besides, no one was supposed to know I was here, so I took a chance. Even if it was true, there wasn't much I could do about it now, so it would have to wait.

First, I finished the coffee before he got cross and took it from me.

"Sorry. I don't have a sister," I said putting the mug on the ground.

He looked as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Instead he picked up the mug, turned and walked out, leaving the door open.

I felt completely drained, beginning to worry that my father might actually be ill. I was tempted to go to the door and venture out, but lacked the strength and courage. I actually wanted to stop and get off, perhaps to look for a new job.

I lay back on the hard floor and cried silently.

A shadow fell across the door. So I waited for my next challenge, deciding that I'd deliberately fail it.

"Right, Miss, best we get you into some clothes and down to the doc for a quick once over," Staff Sergeant MacLean said, throwing some of my underwear, socks, boots and a set of overalls at me.

I was too tired to argue, even if I wanted to. I sat on the floor and dressed myself, slowly and gingerly, revelling in the feeling of soft, warm socks.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked.

"No thanks, I've got this far by myself," I replied.

He had the decency to turn round as I dressed, which I found faintly silly. For all I knew, he had been one of my tormentors and had seen me stark naked since the start. I finished doing up my boots and, without hesitating, he put a hand under my arm and helped me to my feet.

I smiled weakly at him as he assisted me out of that horrible place and into the front passenger seat of a waiting army Land Rover. He then slid behind the wheel and drove rapidly away.

I noticed that where I'd been kept was in a small cluster of concrete buildings in a small compound deep in some woods. We followed a track through the woods that joined a minor road after about a mile. From there it was only a few minutes from the camp, so I was ushered into the medical unit shortly arriving back at the base. The clock on the wall informed me it was eight o’clock, but I didn’t know whether it was morning or evening, while the cloud cover gave me no hints.

The army doctor was thorough but hardly a great conversationalist. He gave me an injection and told me that I’d chipped a small piece off a tooth, but it didn’t need any dental work to repair. Apart from that I just needed a hot bath, a good night’s sleep and some food, not necessarily in that order.

I was still wary and treated him as if he was hostile. I didn’t know if the training exercise was over or not. I was left alone to get dressed again, so looked into a small mirror.

I looked a real mess. One eye was swollen and going a nice blue colour, my lips were swollen and bruised and I had huge dark rings under my eyes. As for my hair, my feelings weren’t repeatable!

One of the sergeants came and saw me. We sat in small office just next to an examining room.

I just sat there, unable to concentrate, not really believing it was over.

“Right, this is your debrief, Miss. You’ve completed the toughest part of the course, congratulations.”

“Yeah, whoopee,” I said resting my head on my arms.

“Seriously, do you understand what has just happened?”

I looked sideways at him.

“You are joking, aren’t you?” I said.

“How do you feel?”

I just snorted, and shut my eyes.

“I need to ensure you’re aware of the fact the exercise is over, and you successfully completed it.”

“Oh goodie,” I muttered.

“This isn’t helpful, have you any comments to make about your treatment?”

“It was a fucking wonderful experience; I must do it again some time. No, actually, it was fucking awful, but then it was meant to be. No, I don’t wish to make any comments. I just want to put it behind me and go to bed, is that okay with you?”

“There will be a further debriefing with your department head in due course. I just want you to know that you’ve the respect of the instructors here, as you conducted yourself very ably.”

“Ably? Shit, there’s a thing. Now my life is complete. Thanks Sergeant, but can I go to bed now?”

As I left the sick bay to head for the canteen, I saw Caroline being driven out of the gates in another Army Land Rover. Her suitcase was in the back, so I knew she hadn’t made it. I wondered how many of us remained.

As I wandered into the canteen, I was aware of some curious glances my way, but couldn’t care less. Those who were there seemed to be eating breakfast, so I assumed it was the morning. One of the officers, a Captain Clarke came over to me.

“Ah, Joannah, seen the doc?”

“Yes.”

“Well done, just popped over to tell you you’ve passed that little hurdle, but then you knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did?”

“You’re still here. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” I said.

“Your treatment.”

“My treatment? Not you too? Are you afraid I’ll sue or something, besides, I thought it was standard, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but you’re not a soldier,” he said.

“I’m not one that wears a uniform and rushes about shouting, ‘Come on chaps!’, but in my own way, I suppose I’m just as much a soldier as you.”

“That doesn’t mean our chaps can abuse you.”

“Course they can. They have to, for otherwise how the hell will I know what I’m capable of?”

“Ah, there is that.”

“No thanks, captain. All I want is to lie down and sleep for a week. Unless you’ve more of the same planned?”

“Me?”

“You, or any of the others. If you do, forget it, I’ll tell you everything now and fuck off home to save you the trouble. It was shit with a capital S, but now I know a little bit about myself. Excuse me, I’ve an appointment with my bed,” I said, and went up to the counter.

Not feeling like greasy eggs and bacon, I grabbed a mug of hot coffee and some bread, which I carried back to my room. I never finished the coffee, as I collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, and was instantly asleep.

It was dark when I awoke, shivering again. It dawned on me that I hadn’t asked or ascertained how long I’d been away. I found my wristwatch beside my bed, only to discover that it was four in the morning just four days after I’d taken my shower. Assuming I’d slept for more than twelve hours, then the whole thing only took a couple of days, three at the most. It seemed much longer.

I went to the showers, where I carefully folded my clothes by the door and made sure I locked the door before starting the water.

I wouldn’t know what it would be like to be dragged through a hedge backwards, but thought that it sounded like a breeze compared to what I’d experienced. I stood under the shower for ages, eventually sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall of the stall with the water cascading upon my head and shoulders.

After I eventually dried off and dressed, I felt amazingly hungry. The one advantage of this particular place was the twenty four hour canteen, or mess. Everyone here wore ubiquitous green denim and boots all the time, with no badges or rank markings. One never knew who was what of from where. The instructors seemed to know, but they made no attempt to enlighten any of us, and we were actively discouraged to engage in friendly chit chat.

I found the canteen virtually deserted apart from a couple of people sat at the far end, away from the servery counter. The army cooks were bored and disinterested, so I was able to help myself to a huge portion of rather dry shepherds pie, with masses of soggy green vegetables and a chunk of apple pie and custard. With a steaming mug of tea, I sat by myself and ate every crumb. It might not have satisfied Egon Ronay, but I loved every morsel.

I was just finishing my tea when a hand fell on my shoulder.

Having been through the last few days, I jumped.

“Relax, my dear, it’s only me,” said a reassuring voice. It was Humphrey.

“Oh, it’s you. What brings you out here at this time of day?” I asked. It was just five thirty in the morning.

“You do.”

“Me?”

“I got a call yesterday afternoon to say you were ready for collection. I thought I might give you a few hours to recover, so asked for the officer of the day to give me a call when you surfaced. You could have picked a more convenient time, but at least the traffic back to London will be better now.”

“Collection, like this?” I asked, my hands going to my hair.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“I’ve seen men twice your size and as strong as oxen crumple during what you’ve been through, and all you’re worried about is your hair?”

“I look ghastly!”

“Yes, you do, but then I’m sure if I give you half an hour, you’ll make yourself a little more presentable?”

“But all my clothes and personal effects were taken away.”

“They’re back in your room. I’ll see you in the commandant’s office in twenty-five minutes, okay?”
 
 
Twenty three and a half minutes later, I was shown into the Lieutenant Colonel’s office by a corporal. I’d followed the instructions and left everything they’d issued me on the bed in my room. I wasn’t sad to leave.

I still looked pretty dreadful, but now wore jeans and a pullover, with sturdy hiking boots on my feet. I’d worn army boots for all these weeks, so didn’t feel I could wear anything flimsy or fashionable yet. I’d slapped a little make up on, and my hair was clean and reasonable, so I did feel a lot better than a few hours ago. The Commandant and Humphrey were sitting laughing at some anecdote when I arrived. To my surprise and some embarrassment, both men stood as I entered.

“See, you look much better now, my dear. How do you feel?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Completely fucked,” I said.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, Brigadier, it seems she’s been around my chaps rather too long. I do hope we haven’t spoilt her?” said the Colonel.

So, Humphrey was a Brigadier. That was interesting. I wondered if he was still swerving or retired.

“Oh, don’t worry, James, young Jo may not look it, but she’s more resilient that most of your chaps, aren’t you, my girl?”

“If you say so, Brigadier,” I said.

“All packed?”

“I didn’t arrive with much,” I said, holding up my small holdall.

“Excellent. So, James, how did she do?”

“Surprisingly well, considering. She handled herself most intelligently, professionally and with a lot of guts. The chaps didn’t like being nasty to her, and they found it particularly hard to keep it up.”

“Keep what up?” I asked, straight-faced. Both men went a delightful shade of pink, which made me laugh.

“I meant that they didn’t like maintaining the regime of harsh treatment,” he clarified.

“They didn’t show it. Oh, and by the way, who did I kick in the groin?”

“Ah, that was Sergeant Patterson.”

“Tell him I hope they hurt,” I said, meaning it.

He smiled, passing over a buff file to Humphrey.

“Her file, a most resilient young woman, as you so rightly pointed out,” he said.

“Good, thanks James, you’ve done a good job, as always,” he said.

“Excuse me, what about the others?” I asked, as I was curious to know about those who were left. The two men exchanged glances.

“The three other successful candidates will leave in the next few hours,” The colonel replied.

“You’re the only one I’m interested in,” said Humphrey.

“But there were thirty four of us on day one. Is this normal, to get less than ten percent through?” I asked.

“Some courses fail a hundred percent. Ten percent is average,” the colonel informed me.

That made me feel quite humble, but then I had another thought and was about to voice it.

“No, Jo, they didn’t go easy on you. You went through exactly the same as all other candidates, male or female. We can’t afford to lower standards for anything. Gender, race, age, strength and ability are as nothing, for we have to ensure that everyone passes to the same exacting standard,” Humphrey told me.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly realising what I’d achieved.

He smiled, opening the door for me.

“Before you get too big-headed, that was just the beginning!”

*          *          *
 
End of Part 1
 
 
To Be Continued...