Bitcoin Heist

By Paul Brackley

Jerome thought it was going to be an easy out-patient operation to implant the French Language chip in his brain so that he could master the French Language immediately. He didn't realize it would lead to a £100 million investment scam involving cryptocurrencies, dealings with a Russian Oligarch and his violent henchmen, and meeting the girl of his dreams. Would he survive it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Brackley
• Release date: Oct 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645000856

Paul Brackley

I am a retired businessman living in Adelaide South Australia. Born London England. Background in chronological order" from 15 yrs: Clerical, Painter, Photo Sales, RAAF, Crayfisherman, Fire brigade, Roadhouse Manager, McDonalds, then my own businesses, some successful and some not so. First time author and after many years putting off writing I'm now really enjoying it. Have 2 children (1 deceased) but now only my wife and I at home together. Hopefully more writing to come.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

French Dreams

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his was not a typical day for Jerome Baxter because Jerome booked himself to have a revolutionary new, not quite legal, operation on his brain. He contemplated having this procedure done for only two weeks.

The operation was still a somewhat secret procedure, recently perfected by Crimson Pharma’s company called Enhanced Prosthetic Memory. This was a process whereby a chip the size of a piece of hair is impregnated into the brain and allows the patient to learn a new language within twenty-four hours. The tiny chip had the entire language, including correct grammar, syntaxes, etc., encoded on it and placed in an area of the brain that science had known about for years that controlled speech comprehension. A similar technique had been worked on by the Military since 2016 to drastically improve the short-term memory of soldiers. With the help of images from magnetic resonance, great strides were made in recent years on how to enhance memory.

There was also a long history of animal studies in which implants were found to increase memory in chimpanzees. Labs have worked on this technique for over ten years. Also, going back to 2018, dementia patients had been given implants to successfully increase their memories by up to thirty-five percent. This new procedure was a fundamental extension of the previous work already done.

Jerome knew about this early because he was an accountant at Macmillan Investments, an established firm of investment bankers in London. They had taken some investments recently on this project. Although very hush-hush, he was involved with it all, and his boss and friend at the company Brent Smyth had briefed him on what it was all about and wanted him prepared for some significant investments that were expected to come in soon.

In reality, it would take about three or four extra days for the tongue to wrap itself around new words and even longer for Asian languages. He could even stipulate what accent he wanted, and Jerome had decided on a French, upper-middle-class accent reflecting his standing now in the English class system.

Jerome was sure that this sensational development would change language learning for so many people who just did not have the time or acumen to learn. Once fully legalized, the resulting benefits could be enormous. People who wanted citizenship in other countries but had to learn the language to qualify first and could not, either because of advanced age or just no language ability, would soon be able to do so.

Yes, it was not legal at the moment—the authorities needed more time to give it an official stamp— yes, it wasn’t thoroughly researched, and, yes, it was something that was unknown until recently. Still, he had already read stories on the dark web about how this incredible technological advancement that had come out of brain scans had revolutionised language learning.

Jerome was thirty-four, his native tongue was English. He lived alone in a small flat in London and was regarded as a good accountant by his company. Now that his recent divorce was settled, he wanted to do something different, opting for a complete change in lifestyle in France. He had already mentioned this to Brent.

Jerome had no kids and was physically active, 6 ft 1 tall, medium build, and quite good looking. He was at the gym most nights and still did a lot of swimming at his local pool. He had travelled with his ex-wife a lot. Backpacking through Europe, and then Australia, New Zealand, and the USA over a few years. He enjoyed this, but they never really got ahead financially. He had finished his studies at Uni, where he majored in accounting and psychology—an odd combination to some—and got the job at Macmillan's a few years ago. He drank a little bit too much but did not do drugs after a bad experience at university.

Jerome was born in Cornwall and moved to North London at the age of eleven. He had been taunted at school because of his broad Cornish accent and eventually made friends with another boy who didn’t fit the London stereotypes either, Harry Jenkins. In high school, Jerome was never bullied because his one and only friend Harry was the toughest kid in the place.

Jerome lived with his mother, but his father was unknown to him. His mother passed away at fifty from cancer when Jerome was only thirty-two. He had been incredibly close to her and loved how she talked about her ancestors being Cornish and how proud of this they both should be.

His only living relatives were his aunt Ruby, who was now sixty-five, and Aunt Doris, sixty-two, who both lived in the same nursing home in North London. Both had early-onset dementia, and it was always a concern to Jerome as he got older that he may be afflicted with this as well. In some way, he always felt as if he should be able to help them more.

Jerome had tried to learn French at school but found it unbearably hard. Languages were not his thing. He was good at maths, hence his career in accounting. Now, working in an office for one of the oldest investment firms in the city, he found the work good at first, hobnobbing with the upper echelon of society and investment wizards, but he was ready for a real life-change.

Jerome’s divorce was quite sensible. In his mind, his life had been far too practical. His hobbies consisted of watching sports and travel documentaries, anything about history, chess, and swimming. His wife had found another partner, and although at first a bit shocked, he felt they were never really suited, and, at the back of his mind, he always liked the idea of being with a French lady.

Jerome needed this lifestyle change and just wanted to do something else and be somewhere else. The feeling that this something else was slightly illegal acted more of a stimulus than resistance to his motivation.

Jerome never really loved London. He still had affection for his native Cornwall, but he had vacationed in France numerous times and loved it. This was where he wanted to be.

He remembered seeing a documentary of an older woman and her family living in Siberia, where it sometimes got too minus forty in the winter. The interviewer, covered in snow and freezing, asked her had she ever travelled anywhere else. She said no, why should she? This is where she was born, and you should always live where you are born. Jerome loved her attitude but had to disagree. Go and live where you feel the best, he felt.

Jerome’s office was on the ninth floor of an old building needing refurbishment. A bit small, but he had a great view of the city of London out of his window. The building was right alongside the Thames. He often joked to himself that someday he might just jump into the river from there, as a good leap, and he could land into the water. Trouble was if the fall did not kill him, in mid-winter in London—which it now was—the survival rate for people was less than four minutes in the icy waters. It was a great view, but, today especially, London looked dreary.

Through his work with Macmillan’s, he had become quite friendly with one of the administrators at Crimson Pharma called Frederick Smirnov. Frederick was Russian and a rather unusual character. They had met up for drinks a few times, and he had given Jerome the impression that it was his idea to use Enhanced Prosthetic Memory to enhance language learning. Frederick also inferred he was a bit disgruntled with all the investments pouring in and was still on a rather basic wage with bonuses that weren’t paid.

Jerome had the money for the treatment ready—a special price Frederick had secured for him. French would be the first language he would get, and then maybe other languages later if all went well.

People tended to think that accountants were rich people, but this was generally only true if they came from wealthy families. For most people, inherited wealth was the way to be rich when you are young, and Jerome had come from a low-income family. Although earning good money now, he had lost a lot in his divorce settlement, and no way could he afford to own his place in London.

A country property in France was a great option, and he dreamt of maybe living with a lovely French girl and doing the occasional accounting work from home just to get by. Jerome never thought he was that ambitious; he certainly was not a workaholic as he loved his sports, especially swimming, and saw himself living eventually near the beach and just swimming and surfing most days.

Jerome always thought it unfair how some people were just born into wealthy families and then flaunted their wealth. He also saw first-hand how these types paid hardly any tax and just increased their wealth and sailed through life with no respect for others. Although they were entitled elites, he found himself envious, wishing he was born into the same circumstances.

He also knew that Macmillan had some very shady characters investing money with them. Jerome wanted out of this working environment, and his plan would help achieve this.

At the appointed time, Frederick’s warm smile greets Jerome, and pleasantries were exchanged. A trifle nervous, Jerome was led into the operating waiting room for a preliminary check. All being good, he was then escorted into the next room, where he met the anesthetist ready to put him out.

A couple of minutes later, an incredibly gorgeous nurse came in, smiled, and asked in a German accent if he felt okay, to which he said yes.

My name is Emma, and we are now going to put you out. Are you ready?

He was not. He just wanted to lie there and stay awake, admiring her lovely, sculpted face. He then reluctantly agreed that he was ready. The next thing he knew, after a pinprick on the top of his hand, he was drifting off—and then waking up.

The vision of Emma was nowhere to be seen, but the doctor was there asking how he felt. Trying to fight the super relaxed feeling the aftereffects of the drugs were causing and at the same time looking around again for her, he blurted out, I feel fine. In fact, I feel really good.

Yes, certainly now consciousness was back, he did feel good. The doctor suggested he rest for an hour before going home in a taxi, reassuring Jerome that there were no side effects normally, getting a good night's sleep, and having an easy couple of days.

In the cab, anxious to see if he could now understand French, he tried speaking the few phrases he had learnt years ago. Slow at first, and then, miraculously, the French language came to him. The driver looked at him as if he had a screw loose. Overjoyed, he could not wait to get home and try some more. The only dampener was not seeing that beautiful nurse again.

After the twenty-minute trip and safely ensconced in his living room, he immediately put the TV dial on to a French-speaking channel. Unbelievable—he could understand it all! An amazing feeling.

What a fantastic state of mind he was in. Apart from being only one of a dozen or so people in the world so far who knew this procedure was available, he felt ecstatic that his future dreams might take shape. Yes—give notice at his job, give notice to his landlady, and off to France to buy the chateau he always wanted. Laughing to himself, he joked wouldn’t it be wonderful to take Emma with him.

He bounced out of his daydreaming with the sound of his phone ringing.

Hello, Jerome, Frederick here. How are you feeling? He was a bit startled that Frederick rang him so quickly, but they chatted for about ten minutes, and he could not help asking about the nurse. Surprisingly, Frederick said, yes, she was German and was his girlfriend!

He said it in a joking manner, but even so, Jerome was taken aback by this, as he had thought Frederick was gay. Without prying anymore, he agreed to meet tomorrow morning for coffee. Jerome took the rest of the week off for recuperation and had plenty of time on his hands. Frederick had a proposition he wanted to put to him. The thought enticed Jerome, and he wondered what it could be?

Sitting alone in his apartment, Jerome had never felt better in his life. The prosthetic memory also seemed to have added some sort of spice to his thoughts and feelings. Although he did have the occasional bet on the horses and roulette with Brent, he had never thought of himself as a big gambler. For some inexplicable reason, he now felt like throwing caution to the wind and doing something very daring. A strange feeling, he thought, though not dwelling on it.

That night, he had his first-ever dream in French. A wonderful experience. People say if you dream in another language, it was proof that you fully understood it. Jerome had spent some time studying dreams in his psychology studies at Uni. He had worked on and perfected a technique called lucid dreaming, whereby one could actually dream and know they were dreaming. Sometimes a person could even control the way their dreams went. This was such a lucid dream, and he dreamt of Emma.

The next morning, brimming with anticipation, Jerome met Frederick for coffee, and, surprisingly, Emma was with him. He was overjoyed about this. My god, she looked incredible. As coffee was served, they started a polite conversation. It soon became apparent that his initial thoughts about Frederick's sexuality were spot on. Emma was a girlfriend in the true sense of the word. Things for Jerome just went from being great to over the moon. An opportunity perhaps to ask for a date. Jerome was a good-looking, sporty, intelligent man, but he also thought she was out of his league. Anyway, the worst that could happen was she said no.

Jerome tried to look at Emma casually, but a woman of her beauty knew Jerome, like most straight men, could not take their eyes off her. Suddenly, she said in French, And how is your understanding of French going at this early stage?

Initially startled, Jerome continued the conversation in French. It became apparent quickly that Frederic could not speak French. She somehow seemed even more attractive speaking to him in French than in English. This is sensational, he thought to himself.

Another couple of hours of intriguing conversation was carried out. Swapping between English and French, Jerome and Emma had begun using the French in a flirtier way, keeping Frederick out of that part of the conversation. However, Frederick joined in when English was spoken. Jerome found himself feeling more and more intrigued by Emma. What a magnificent creature. Probably about twenty-eight—he didn’t want to ask—gorgeous face, with big dark eyes and blond hair was done in the double pigtails that German women loved to wear. Her brown eyes seemed to invite him to stare at her spectacular, curved body. Maybe a bit fuller framed than a model's figure, but to him—irresistible. She didn’t seem to smile much, but she didn't have to. Her