. Manuel was slender with beautiful artistic hands, dark hair swept back from a high forehead, every feature of his face chiseled, teeth white and gleaming. His pale blue cotton shirt with its priest collar, almost like a surgeon's short gown, was obviously handmade. The color made his wide, clear eyes even bluer, like azure.He was sitting expectantly as Mr. Smith entered."Good morning," the Englishman said."You needed to see me?" Manuel said quietly, in fluent English."Yes. That is correct.""You were recommended?""Yes. By ..."The Englishman said two names that sent chills down Manuel's stiff spine. He knew who they were—men he could not refuse."I will pay you in dollars."Manuel nodded and watched as the big man sat uncomfortably on one of the hard chairs in the reception area. He had no receptionist and no nurses. Only one person assisted him in his operations—an elderly Mexican, Enrico, who had worked alongside his father."I will need to take some particulars and discuss exactly what is required.""Obviously."Manuel liked his deep resonant voice, the way he appeared respectful. And yet there was a domineering confidence about him."Firstly, may I ask your age?""Sixty."Manuel leaned forward and picked up a clipboard from the coffee table."Do you suffer from high blood pressure?""Slightly.""Have you had any recent operations?""No.""Do you have any heart problems?""No.""Do you have any allergies?" "No.""No allergic reactions to antibiotics?""None."Manuel used a slim silver pen to write on his clipboard."Have you any blood disorders?""No.""Do you have transport?""Yes.""Somewhere to recover after surgery?""Yes."Manuel replaced the board onto the coffee table."Now I need to discuss the exact surgical requirements and modifications you would like me to achieve."Mr. Smith had started to sweat in the overheated reception; it was eighty degrees outside and there was no air-conditioning in the room.