Read The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) for Free Online

live. Three lousy months…”
    Craig nodded. Cancer had taken both his father’s parents years before and he could still remember them wasting away. He forced the memories down and spoke quietly.
    “What can I do to help? Do you need time off? I can arrange compassionate leave if that would help?”
    Jake raised his eyes and Craig saw tears beginning to form. He held the younger man’s gaze. Jake’s eyes held the confusion of the soon-to-be bereaved, frantically searching for ways to hold back the coming tide. After a moment he shook his head.
    “Thank you, sir, but I don’t know what to do yet. My granddad’s the only father I remember and my gran needs my help nursing him, but for my sanity’s sake I need to work.”
    Craig knew the young officer was incapable of making the choice so he made it for him.
    “What if you work flexitime for a while? Come in late, fit in the hours as and when?”
    Jake’s eyes lit up. “Could I do that? Really? It would mean I could help sort things out in the mornings, then pop back to check on them mid-afternoon.” He nodded furiously, grabbing at Craig’s offer. “Yes, please, sir. I won’t abuse it, I promise. I’ll make up the hours.”
    Craig smiled and waved away his thanks. “Don’t worry about the hours, we’ll sort those out. And come back to me if there’s anything more I can do.” He stood up briskly. “Now, off you go and I’ll sort it outwith Nicky. I’ll let the others know as necessary.”
    Jake left the office thanking him profusely and Craig smiled, hoping that someone would do the same for his imaginary kids when the day came.

Chapter Three
     
    University Faculty of Medicine. 12 p.m.
     
    Timothy Taylor rose from behind his imposing desk and crossed to the shelves that lined one wall of his office, each one laden with books. Their covers were hard and soft, card and paper, and even, in the case of some older tomes, fine leather mottled with age. They were written in several languages, to show that he was an educated man, and their subject matters supported that. There were books on pathology and biochemistry, ageing in different cultures and religions, gerontology, longevity and even one on cryogenics after death. Subjects that a layman might assume would assist his work and help the patients that he served.
    Taylor had chosen his future career in his first year at medical school, inspired by his elderly parents and his own fear of death. While other students were excited by surgery and paediatrics, he focused on the ailments of the old. Not because he particularly cared about their frail, bent bodies, but because he feared the deterioration of his own and was intent on preventing it. Like King Canute, he was determined to hold back the tide, but of ageing rather than the sea. Where a Hollywood starlet obsessed with keeping her looks might seek Botox and surgery, Tim Taylor explored medication and cellular redesign.
    He was good at what he did, but more than that, timing had been his friend. In a world with an ageing population and baby boomers young in the swinging sixties who refused to ‘go gentle into that good night’ unless they were wrinkle and cellulite free, people threw funding at his specialty like it was the Holy Grail. Taylor had seized it gratefully and climbed up the increasingly vertical career ladder until he’d finally reached a Professor’s Chair. Now he was pleased with where he sat in life.
    He had tenure at work and tenure at home, in the shape of his younger wife, Miranda. At thirty she was starting to fray a little around the edges but it was nothing that a quick nip and tuck wouldn’t fix. And if she wouldn’t have one, well there were plenty more nubile medical students where he’d found her…
    He had his own research unit at St Mary’s with human guinea pigs, and best of all he never had to touch a patient again; he had plenty of junior staff to do that. All he had to do was find out what made some people age slowly