1

It was going to be the most interesting week in J's life...
except for the time he forgot.

2

J was walking down the street, coming back from his lunch
break. He took his regular route, from the small diner in
which he always ate to the headquarters. The headquarters
were, formally, an accounting firm. Well, actually, there
was a real accounting firm working in that building, but J
didn't really worked there. He worked on Level -5 which,
formally, didn't exist. To get there he had to use a hidden
elevator from his office. His name, formally, was Howard
Bornemann, and he was, formally, probably one of the most
boring people anyone had ever met. He had no friends, had an
average amount of money, his parents were the most regular
people possible, his looks were the kind that people's eyes
just slide over (there wasn't one man who knew Howard who
could claim to remember his face, even though some of them
had worked in the office next to his and greeted him every
morning for almost ten years); in short, there wasn't even
one special thing about Howard, and that was exactly the way
J wanted it.
J was probably the most well kept secret in the world, and
his method for achieving this was simply seeming to be the
most regular and boring man in the world.

3

J's walk was going as usual. He walked in moderated steps,
not too fast yet not too slow; not too noisily yet not too
silently; without any real expression on his face, yet
without any vacancy in it, either. People who passed by him
in the street looked at him for a second, and then, when
they were past him, forgot the fact that there had been a
man in front of them just a second ago. J smiled to himself
(only mentally, of course- a smiling man draws more
attention). These walks had become his favorite part of the
day.
J got to his street corner, turned...
And suddenly found himself on the street where he lived,
approximately 4 km away from the headquarters.
What the hell... he was thinking, but his self-control was
so great that even though he was deeply shocked, from the
outside he seemed like a man merely asking himself if maybe
he hadn't taken the wrong road in the last intersection.
Something very weird is happening here, he thought, this is
bad, very bad. "He looked at his watch and saw it was 15:37,
when it should have been 13:45 at the latest. He ad somehow
lost almost two hours.
His first thought was senility? But he immediately
rebuked himself: he had an extensive physical and
psychological test every other week, and they would've found
out about something like that. Besides, he couldn't be
senile, because senility in a position as risky as his meant
the headquarters would kill him as soon as they found out,
and he refused to believe that that was the case. And, after
all, he was only 31 years old (although people looking who
looked at him never could decide whether he seemed to be 20
or 50 years old).
His second thought (enemy agents?) was also rejected,
although with less certainty: he decided to go back and
think about that possibility later.
His third thought (the headquarters are testing me)
seemed the most reasonable, and so he temporarily accepted
it as the reason for his little continuity glitch. It
wouldn't have been the first time they did something like
this to him. Once they had sent five hitmen to kill him. And
there were those two other times, when a car tried to run
him over and when he had been poisoned. But those had been
pretty easy situations, when good reflexes, great instincts
and an excellent training- three qualities that he had, and
in large amounts; he was probably the best soldier the US
had ever trained- were what he needed to pass the test. This
time, the headquarters had given him a real challenge- a
practical and brilliant mind will be needed to pass this
test. He didn't lack those qualities either, and he thought
he was up to it.
Thinking about the problem immediately calmed him down, and
he started walking again (any onlookers would have seen him
stop for just a second while he thought it all over; his
mind was as fast as his face was unrecognizable), got to his
house, and went up the stairs.

4

He entered his house, in which anyone who would care to
search- and no one ever did- would find nothing interesting
at all. It was the most banal and boring apartment possible.
J often thought that if it's true what they say about a
man's home reflecting his personality, this apartment was
perfect for Howard Bornemann- the man who owned it must have
no personality at all.
He sat on his bed and started thinking about what he should
do. Call the headquarters? No. Try to backtrack his steps
since 13:45? No. Check his blood for any chemical substance?
Now that was a good idea. He went to his bathroom, took a
syringe from his semi-secret compartment (anyone who was
really looking would have found it, but the way he and the
apartment looked, who would bother?) and his blood scanning
kit, drew some blood and put it under the scanner. After a
five second wait the answer came back on the small monitor:

Unusual Substances:
-Substance: Strechenin. Effect: poison (deadly). Quantity:
200 mg. Time of effect: 4-5 hours. Cure: 60 mg of
Bestochnin.
No other unusual substances found.

Well, that must be a decoy, he thought, the headquarters
know very well that I have this kit... after all, they
designed it and gave it to me. He slowly looked through his
semi-secret compartment, found the Bestochnin, put 60 mg
into a syringe, and injected himself. Well, I've just saved
my own life, he thought with a small smile.
He went out of the bathroom, pressed a small red button
that was hidden under a picture of "Harold's mother" and
soon a metallic voice spoke up in the small speaker next to
the button: "No explosives or unwanted materials present".

Well, then, his house was clean.
Now, what I am going to do about my little problem?
Several solutions passed through his head, and he chose the
most simple and yet probably the best one: just wait and do
nothing. He had learned from his experience that sometimes
patience was a man's best friend, and that most times if you
let things evolve by themselves, there will finally come the
moment which is the best one to intervene. He went to bed,
and slept for exactly 4 hours.

5

Five minutes after he woke up the phone rang. He was
expecting the call, ad so answered it before it had time to
complete even one ring.
"Hello, is Martha there?" A familiar voice asked. "No,
wrong number". He answered. "Oh, ok, sorry. Have a nice
day." And the line was dead. A short conversation that meant
"J, get here fast."
He got dressed (not too elegant but not too casual, white
brown and gray colors in their most uninviting
incarnations), opened the door and went down the stairs.
He walked the 4 km to the headquarters, as usual, in his
controlled manner of walking. He never drove a car, because
a car meant too many risks: car bombs, traffic "accidents",
etc. Besides, he hadn't found a car that is as anonymous as
he would've wanted it.
He got to the headquarters forty minutes later. He entered
the building, climbed the stairs to his formal office on the
4th floor, and then took the elevator down to his real
office on the -5th floor.
As soon as he got out of the elevator his face did a total
metamorphosis. His dull, expressionless face suddenly became
interested, clever, and even a little good-looking. The
change was as amazing as it was instantaneous- anyone who
didn't know J would've been astounded. There was no one like
that in the headquarters, though.
He made his way surely and quickly to S's office. His walk,
too, had changed completely- his walk now was now that
couldn't avoid drawing attention: full of self-confidence,
elegant, and still as controlled as it was outside. If there
ever was a walk that projected power, this was it.
"Hello, S", he said in a voice that no one who knew Harold
had ever heard.
"J! Good to see you, as always!" S said. J knew that under
S's jolly, friendly and round face hid one of the most
brilliant minds in the world.
"Good to see you too", he answered, "so, do you have a new
challenge for me?"
"Yes, I have something that will definitely be a challenge
for you, I think", fake sadness stole into S's face. J was
pretty sure he was the only one who knew how cold-hearted
and feelingless S really was. "But I don't think you'll like
it. Your mission this time is one that I think any man as
patriotic as yourself would dread: you have to kill the
President."
Anyone watching would've said that J's expression didn't
even change. "No questions asked, I guess?"
"Yeah, J, I'm sorry, but no questions asked. Let's just say
that it has to be done, for the good of the country."
"OK. Do I have a deadline?" He knew the answer, but he
asked it, like most questions he asked S, in hope that S
didn't know how predictable he had become to him.
"No, just do it as fast as you can."
"Al right, I'll get on to it right now. Goodbye."
"Good luck."

6

Ok, now that I have new info, it's time to process it.
Let's see... I have to kill the President on the same day
that I had a little continuity glitch and lost two hours of
my life somehow. Now this can bring us into three different
conclusions:
Number 1: S has turned his skin, made me forget the two
hours in which I must have found out about him, and is now
sending me to kill the President in order to complete his
mission and at the same time get rid of me. He would be
called a hero, I would be framed of his crime, and S would
be able to keep doing whatever he wants to do.
Number 2: The President really is dangerous for the country
and should be assassinated. Since he knows I would be the
one sent to kill him, he somehow made me forget the two
hours in order to confuse me or maybe to put some
untraceable poison in my blood or something like that.
Number 3: This is all really a very complex and
sophisticated headquarters' test, and there must be a
stand-in for the President waiting to be killed in the White
House. In that case, I'm in trouble, since I can't figure
out in what way the headquarters would want me to act.
And, of course, there's the unknown/ unthought of factor.
I'm still pretty light on the facts, and all I have so far
is speculations and hasty conclusions. I have to remember
that I don't know everything yet.
Not one of the people walking by J on the street had any
idea of the crucial thoughts that were going on in his mind.
Actually, not one of them even noticed them, but J was too
preoccupied right now to take any pleasure in his perfect
disguise.
And in a bizarre way, he was enjoying himself more than he
had in years.

7

By the time J had gotten back to his building, a decision
had formed in his mind: he was going to talk to the
President.

8

J was hiding in a dark corner of a big, beautiful, very
well kept and oval office, waiting for all the people in
the office to leave. All but one, that is.
After about four hours of waiting (as mentioned before,
patience was not something that J lacked), J finally got his
chance. The man he was waiting for had finally been left
alone, and he was now reading something that was on his
desk.
"Hi", J said, getting up from his corner. After a small
surprised cry from the man and an untrusting, scared look,
he continued. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. Now,
take me to the President."
"But, I... I am the President." The man stuttered. "Don't
you recognize my... m-my face?"
"Well, I recognize your face, but the real President would
not have looked that scared if the entire Iraq Army was
inside this office, and he wouldn't have never been left
alone when he is in danger, like now. Now, take me to him",
J talked in his real voice, and the man felt a strange need
to do whatever he says.
"O-OK, I see. I... I can't take you to him, I'm merely a...
a stand-in... but I can take you to the man who can."
"All right, let's go."

9

"J! I was expecting you!" the head of the Secret Service
said. "I see you haven't lost it yet."
"No, I guess not. And I see you aren't as good as you
should be yet", J said with a smile. The head of the Secret
Service was one of the only men he really liked. "Can you
take me to the President?"
"Yeah, sure. But you know I'll have to be in the room with
you." J could see in his eyes that he knew that even if he
put 5 of his best agents in there, J would still be able to
kill the President if he wanted to- at the cost of his own
life, of course; no one was that good. J was the only man
in the world the head of the Secret Service was afraid of,
but he still really liked him. Admired him, to be accurate.
The stand-in, confused by the conversation, went out of the
room.
"Come on. I expect the President is waiting for us right
now." He said, and led J to the President's secret room.

10

"Hello, Mr. President." J said after he entered the room
and sat down. "I need to talk to you."
"Yeah, I've already figured that out. What's going on?" The
President was another man J liked. They both had the same
practical way of thinking, and were both very direct, and so
there was never any bullshit between them.
"The headquarters ordered me to kill you today"; the
President 's face changed for a moment and then regained its
composure. "I thought you might know why, so I came."
"Yeah, I should've known it was something like this." The
President's face seemed grave, but no bystander would have
thought that he had just gotten the news that the most
lethal and secret organization in the world, one he had
helped to create, wanted him dead. "So, why didn't you
follow your orders?"
"Well, on any other given day I would've done it despite
the fact that it would've saddened me greatly" (the
President half-smiled at that. He knew J really meant it)
"But something else that happened today made me doubt the
headquarters' orders: I was walking down the street, and
suddenly I was at another place and almost two hours had
passed. I don't have any idea what happened. I guess I was
injected with some short-term amnesia causing drug or
something of the sort. And the fact that no the same day
this happened I got the order to kill you didn't seem like
much of a coincidence, and so, here I am."
"You think that somebody high in the headquarters may have
turned his skin, don't you?"
"We both know the answer to that, I think", J said
thoughtfully.
"Yeah, I guess so..." the President answered wearily. "What
do you mean to do?"
"Find out the truth and then either complete my mission or
go on a little private mission of my own." The President had
always admired J's self-confidence, and now he definitely
felt that admiration. "I just thought maybe you'd like to
fill a few blanks for me."
"What do you want to know?" The President asked hopefully.
"All right, for starters, let's begin with any reason you
can think of for anyone in the headquarters to want to kill
you."
"Well, the usual and obvious reasons, I guess: power, some
kind of blackmail, maybe, to prevent an action I'm supposed
to do in the near future..."
J interrupted him. "Can you think of any decision you've
made lately that could drive someone in the headquarters to
such extreme measures?"
"There's only one thing I can think of that concerns the
headquarters, and that's the choosing of the new
headquarters' chief, since F's retiring. But there's no way
anyone could've found out about it, at least..."
"Believe me, you have no idea how many ways we have to get
information which is impossible to get." J said with a small
smile.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Anyway, you and S were the
prime candidates, and you are my own choice. My advisors
want S because he's older and more experienced, they all say
that there never was a man who is only 30 years old in such
a high position, but I think that in a week or two I
would've gotten you the job. Do you think S is trying to
kill me because he knows about this?"
"It's possible, but let's not jump into conclusions." The
news that he was set to replace F as the headquarters' chief
were good to hear, but under the circumstances they weren't
as good as they could've been. "Are you sure there's no
other possible reasons?"
"No, not that I can think of." The President seemed
relieved, which meant he thought J was not going to kill
him. But despite what he might think, J was still far from
such a decision.
"Well, thanks for your help, Mr. President. I guess you'll
find out soon about what happens, one way or the other.
Bye.
"Goodbye, J."

11

Well, conclusions from the meeting with the President:
nothing final. The President could be making S's motive up,
or it could be true. I tend to believe the President but, as
I said, nothing is final.
Only one thing left to do now: go and talk with S.

12

Two days later, after having taken care of some
arrangements, J went to talk to S. S greeted him with his
usual jolliness.
"Hi, J! How have you been? Any progress on the mission?" He
asked with a seemingly curious tone of voice, but J was sure
that S knew that he ad been to the White House and that the
President was still alive. J often thought that if the
headquarters knew how much he knows about all their
operations, motivations and actions and, more importantly,
how well he understands them, he would've been dead years
ago. But, luckily for him, no one in the headquarters had
invented a mind reading machine (yet, he always added to
himself), and so no one knew how much he really knew about
all of the strong points and weaknesses of the deadliest
organization in the world. He had already planned his escape
from the headquarters years ago. As they say, better safe
than sorry.
"Hello, S, How are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Is there anything you wanted to tell me?" he
asked with that same curious voice.
"Yes, I just wanted to tell to tell you that you've
disappointed me. I was sure that you were a great agent, but
you've been reckless and your plan, although not bad
theoretically, had too many weak points. Making me forget
those two hours was the usual touch of genius that is always
present in your plans, but the rest doesn't fit you. The
memory-blanking drug was found by the scanner that you knew
I have. How could you have made such a mistake?" He talked
as if he really was just disappointed, and not accusing S of
trying to frame him for the murder of the President of the
US. "Besides, your motive was so obvious that at first I
thought it couldn't be you, because you surely would've
thought it too obvious and found some way to disguise it.
But then I realized that you were probably assuming that
that would be exactly what I'd think. Again, a little
reckless. It seems as if you were hoping for luck to help
you complete the mission, when you should know that luck is
the most elusive factor in any mission, and you should never
count on it. And finally, I'm even a little hurt by the fact
that you underestimated me so as to think that I wouldn't
find out about you. You've disappointed me, you really
have." J took a breath after his long speech and waited for
an answer, which had already been given to him by S's face.
"B-but, that drug was supposed to be untraceable... Dammit,
I was sure this would work!" S looked a little too
exasperated, which led J to the conclusion that he was
acting, which meant that not all cards had been laid on the
table yet. So he just kept playing the game.
"Again you're acting like an amateur, S. you fell for the
oldest trick in the book: pretending to know that someone
was guilty to get a confession about it out of him. And
besides, your poker face must be malfunctioning, since I can
read you like a paperback right now. All I can say is that
you must be getting too old for this line of work." J still
sounded sure of himself although he was quite sure that what
he was saying was just what S wanted him to believe, and not
the truth. I'm sure F will be very interested in your little
scheme."
After saying all that J turned his back to S and pretended
to go in the direction of F's office.
"Oh, J, I forgot to mention something." He heard S's voice
from behind him, with another noise in the background: the
cocking of a gun. "F is dead, and most of the headquarters
agents are also dead. Some of us, with me as the leader,
decided it was time for the headquarters to get a little
more authority, and so we are going to take over the US.
With the headquarters' resources, we planted some people in
top political positions. You may know some of them: the
Vice-President, the secretaries of State, Treasury and
Defense, 29 congressmen, 37 senators, they're all ours. And
so, after the President's death, the Vice-President would-
very sadly, of course- replace him as President and then the
country would be in our hands. We offered you to join us
today, despite the fact that you hadn't been with us from
the start, but you refused, so we made you forget our offer
and sent you to kill the President. You see, you're the best
one for the job, so we needed you. And you would've taken
the blame, of course. But I guess we'll manage without you."
With that, he shot J in the back and saw him fall to the
floor.
S walked over to J's body and cautiously felt for his pulse.
This was, after all, a very dangerous man, one that had
outsmarted many brilliant men, so he had to make sure that
he was dead.
There was no pulse. J was dead.
He smiled to himself... his plan couldn't have gone more
perfectly. He went to F's office and sat down next to his
big table. He had lots of plans to make, like how to kill
the President now that J was dead.

13

J stood up, took off his shirt, took off the bulletproof
vest, and put his shirt back on. "Amateur", he muttered
under his breath. He had fallen for the real oldest trick in
the book: making the enemy think he had won.
J had once learned an interesting ability from an Indian
agent: with a little concentration was able to lower the
force of his pulse to a range were men weren't able to feel
it. This had been one of J's best weapons against his
enemies: he had found out that, as a rule, people stopped
trying to kill you when you're dead.
He looked at his watch. It was 00:57. In three minutes the
automatic security system would make its explosive's check,
like it did every ten minutes. He had to hurry.
J went to his office, opened his desk drawer and took out a
small box. He placed the box on a certain point on the floor
he always looked at when he was in this office, wondering if
that time will come when that spot on the floor would mean
that he'll live while the headquarters will be burned and
buried. He knew that if he put the exact amount of
explosives he had in the box on that spot, the whole
building would be destroyed, and the headquarters with it.
He smiled, remembering how he had thought to get this office
7 years ago, and how he had refused to move to a bigger on
for the last two years, although they ad offered him more
than once. "He's very territorial for someone as smart as he
is", they said behind his back.
He put the box on that exact spot, pressed the button on the
side of the box, and then quickly got out of his office,
into the elevator, up to ground floor and out of the
building. The second he'd passed the crack on the sidewalk
that he'd calculated to being the exact point in which he
would be safe, an explosion was heard as the building
collapsed. He kept on walking, becoming Harold Bornemann as
he went, with his expressionless face and forgettable walk.

14

At least five cops and firemen saw Harold walking in the
explosion area around 1am. None of them asked him what he
was doing out there that late. None of them mentioned him in
their reports. None of them even thought of him as a
suspect. Truth be told, none of them remembered having seen
anyone at all.

15

Three days later, a new head of the Secret Service was
named. No one knew where he had come from, it was as if he
didn't even exist before. But the President seemed to trust
him completely, and he definitely knew how to do his job.