by Earl Nelson
I thought about obtaining an alibi but decided that I would have no alibi. Even though I would have a motive, method, and no alibi, they wouldn’t be able to prove in an English court of law that I did it.
I wanted them to know it was me, but not caught and convicted in a British court. The trick would be to not get caught. I wouldn’t be convicted on the circumstantial evidence because the Soviet Ambassador couldn’t stand up and say my motive was revenge for their attempts to kill me.
As far as my weapon of choice it would be a longbow with fire arrows. Of course, they might search The Meadows or my garage, even the suite at the Plaza.
The one place they wouldn’t even think to search was the townhouse that Queen Elizabeth had awarded to me and my family for my saving her life.
Since it had been awarded we had never used it. No good reason at the time but now it worked out.
I don’t claim to be very smart but when I obtained my longbow and war arrows for my excursión into East Germany I had ordered five longbows and many arrows. War, target, and fire. A good boy scout is prepared.
I had them delivered to the Palace and then Mr. Norman had them taken to the townhouse which stood empty.
It was turning out to be more useful than the tax exemption the Crown had given me for my saving the Queen. I didn’t have to pay any taxes on money earned in the UK. The only problem was all my earnings so far had been in the US.
My current movie work would change that, but frankly, it would be a drop in the bucket.
I asked Mr. Norman to have a bow and fire arrows delivered to my garage in Oxford. On Thursday when they were delivered I borrowed Grand Mum’s Bentley and took them into town.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, I had scouted the Embassy out while confirming everything on a map.
There was a park about four hundred yards from the Soviet Embassy. It even had a hill on the Embassy side of the park. I think it must have been a druid ring at one time as the top of the hill was surrounded by trees but open in the center.
I parked the Bentley in a legal spot and openly carried my weapons to the top of the hill. I had a jar of nail polish remover which was mostly acetone. I put a rag in a small bucket and poured the acetone over it.
It would make a nice slow-burning fire. Thank you boy scout stamp collecting.
The fire arrows had a six-inch sponge-like material that would burn hot right after the war point. The arrows which penétrate the surface of the garage roof and the century-old wood underneath would burn.
Half a dozen of these burning on the roof would ensure the destruction of the garage. The nice thing is that the guard posts were all at the front entrances so the fire would get a good start before being noticed.
I love it when a plan works.
In a minute the garage was engulfed in flames. It was burning face and furious and had no chance of being put out before the structure was lost, along with the fleet of cars inside.
I almost made a miscalculation as two people came running out of the garage in their nightclothes. Mechanics or chauffeurs slept there. Oh well, no harm no foul.
I would have loved to stick around and see it burn to the ground but that conflicted with my goal of not getting caught.
I sedately drove back to The Meadows. I stopped at a small pond on the way and destroyed the bow and arrows with metal shears and dropped them in the wáter.
I made a mental note to keep track of my weapon supply.
The next morning the news was all about the fire. The London Fire Brigade managed to keep the fire from spreading but the garage and five limousines had been burnt to a crisp. Such a shame. I wonder if they had insurance and would be honored. The press was reporting it to be a deliberate attack.
They knew this because somebody managed to get a picture of the roof before the arrows were all burnt. I must say it was a nice pattern.
On Friday morning I had a message from the Soviet Ambassador. Would I stop by at my convenience? I told the caller that I would be there after lunch.
When I got to the front of the Soviet Embassy I identified myself to the guards. Standing a few feet away was the usual British pólice. I told the guards that the Ambassador had asked me to come in, but that I wasn’t going to step foot on Soviet soil.
They shrugged their shoulders, it wasn’t their problem. I stood there a while and soon a man in a suit showed up. They were watching from the inside.
He asked the guards what was going on. He then asked me for some identification. I gave him a Sir Richard Jackson card. He left and the next thing I knew the Soviet ambassador came to the front gate.
To show how serious I thought this all was I wore dungarees and a long-sleeved shirt under my leather jacket. For fun, I even wore my fedora.
Needless to say, the Ambassador was not very cheerful. He regretfully informed me that a high level East German Stasi Agent had a heart attack last night. He felt that I should not live in fear for my life any longer.
I thanked him and left. What hypocrites he and I were. I didn’t believe I was safe for one second and neither did he.
Probably the only reason the Stasi guy had a heart attack was that he had failed his misión. That is assuming anyone died for any reason. It was telling, I wasn’t given the name of the guy who had a heart attack.
My not going into the Embassy was a last-second impulse. I had learned to listen to these impulses. Once I walked in there I may never have come back out.
Back at The Meadows, I called Mum and then Mr. Norman. They both agreed that I should never enter a Soviet Embassy again unless under duress.
They would check through their channels to see if anyone had died. While they did that I gave some thought as to how I could send a stronger message if needed. Maybe a flaming arrow into Lenin's Tomb.
There were the little problems of getting into Russia, firing the arrow, and then getting out of the country without getting caught.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.
I went home and joined David out at the dig site. I bet it was easier in the Roman days. Send out a legion and problem solved.
Of course, I was standing amidst evidence that it didn’t always go as intended. I was shown all the floor tiles that had been uncovered. The Romans loved their mosaics.
The way David raved you would think they were the greatest thing in the world. To me, they looked like pretty pictures. Well most of them were pretty some ugly, and some no point about them at all.
Maybe this was why I wasn’t an archaeology student.
I even asked him what was so great about them. After looking at me like I had lost my mind he explained that each mosaic was based on a story or legend. This find had the most mosaic ever found in one place.
By knowing the stories and legends of the community they knew more about the beliefs and driving forces of that Community.
I asked him if they had found one of them with the story of the Chuckle Lion on them. With a puzzled look, he told me he had never heard of that one.
Being the helpful guy that I am I told him the story. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just shook his head and walked away.
Still glad I didn’t elect to study archaeology, besides being a boring subject, archaeologists had no sense of humor.
Chapter 20
I spent the next week attending lectures and cleaning up a few loose ends. On Wednesday Prince Charles's school class toured the Roman ruins. One of the chaperons was the Queen.
Of course, I was there for that. The kids were so excited about the venture and what they saw, that in a weak moment I stated that all the school children of Great Britain should have the same opportunity.
I think David was going to have a stroke on the spot.
“Steady old boy, what I’m thinking is that we build a replica of the ruins nearby.”
“That would cost a bloody fortune.”
I didn’t say anything just stared at him.
“
Oh you have a couple of bloody fortunes don’t you?”
“I do, and I’m also looking at the curator of the project.”
“How will I find the time.”
I named a goodly sum, That stopped him in his tracks.
“I will make the time. How fast do you want this done?
“The question is do I want quality, cost, or time. You can’t have all three, I choose quality and time. I will have Jim Wallace set up accounts while you find a firm that can handle the work.”
The Queen who had been standing there during this conversation asked:
“Are you certain you do not want a job in one of my ministries? We could use someone who can make things happen.”
“You would have to have me beheaded within two weeks of my taking the job.”
“Regrettably so, but it would be an interesting two weeks.”
“The regrets are mine your Majesty, but I’m attached to this head and would like to remain so.”
She shook her head, “The younger generation knows nothing about sacrifice.”
I had no idea how to react to this, if she thinks I’m volunteering to get the chop she is crazy.
“I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty, except that I’m at your service as always.”
“That’s the spirit Rick, I told your Mum I could get you to agree to go to the block for me. She bet I couldn’t do it.”
Now I’m in big trouble, I’ve caused Mum to lose a bet.
“I hope it wasn’t a big bet.”
“Just a shilling.”
I’m dead meat. Mum only bets a shilling if she thinks she has a lock.
“Seriously Rick, this is a good thing you are doing here. At the rate, you are going a Baroncey may be in your future.”
I didn’t know what to say. The Queen of England was playing mind games with me? She kept a serious look for a moment then laughed that small laugh of hers.
“Rick, you are so easy.”
At that, she winked at me. The Queen of England winked at me! I chose to ignore this moment of lese majeste practiced by her majesty.
After the royal entourage retired or as I put it, skedaddled back to the Palace.
David and I spent some time talking about recreating the ruins on a plot of land outside of the Roman compound. We would try to make it self-sustaining by charging an admissions fee and having different stores on the property such as souvenirs and food.
We wondered who we could get to build and run the property. I had a bright idea, the theme park people would be perfect for this job. They had created places like Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm and put together teams to do so. I wonder if any had teams that were available now.
When I got back to The Meadows I called Dad at his office and explained what I needed. He had met one group several times so he volunteered to call them.
At school, the next day disaster struck. The enemy got through my defenses and cream pied me. They had a group start a diversion by starting a fight. While I and my escorts gawked I got pied. They even had a photographer taking pictures of the event.
What the Cambridge pie team hadn’t taken into account was the Oxford aversión to them. They were smothered in students. The camera and film were confiscated and all were held for the pólice.
A young lady sacrificed her scarf to clean me up. Within seconds you couldn’t tell anything happened. When the police showed up they questioned everyone present about the incident.
One thing that puzzled them was that the eight students from Cambridge were standing there in their underwear. No one from Oxford had seen a thing.
The Cambridge students told their side of the story, but as one Bobbie put it, “You know how they lie about everything.”
Yay for the home team.
That night at the pub my gang was talking about getting a revenge team together but I discouraged that. We didn’t need the grief and besides the talk going around campus, there would be plenty of other groups picking up our slack.
This would be known as the Year of the Great Pie War.
I was contacted by one of the tabloid reporters back in the US who wanted my side of the pie war story. I gave him a very condensed version. The war wasn’t about me, other than I interfered with their attempt on the Queen and the Lord Mayor of London.
I told him about Elizabeths joking comment on the Order of the Pie. We both agreed it was silly. This didn’t prevent him from reporting it as a fact that I would be receiving the award.
The next day I had to go back to Pinewood to see how the movie Edgware was going. We had lost the lead actress and they were searching for a new one.
They had chosen an actress I had never met, Diana Rigg. She’s very good looking and an amazing person with a good sense of humor. We hit it off the moment we were introduced.
It was a short afternoon so the entire cast had decided to go to a local pub. I was staying the night as part of my new security routine so it worked for me.
Diana was going to ride with me. Well, it turned out I was going to ride with her. When we got to the Austin Martin she held out her hand for the keys. Under her spell, I handed them to her.
I thought I knew how to drive. She had the car screaming through its gears out of the lot. Her shifting was as smooth as glass. While doing this she was talking a mile a minute about how the car handled.
We came to a stop sign where we had to turn right. Her power slid around the corner never letting up on the gas.
If there had been any police around we would have been in jail. I asked her where she had learned to drive like this. She told me about a defensive driving course up in Scotland.
I decided right then and there I needed to attend that course. It would be fun and who knows I might need it one of these days.
It was a blast eating at the pub with the group. After drinking too many beers I got involved in a sing-along. After a lot of prompting I performed all three of my songs.
I was roundly booed by my audience which only proved that they were discerning. Since they booed everyone else it didn’t hurt my feelings.
At the end of the evening, Diana told me she would see me on the set tomorrow and took off in my car leaving to find a ride back to the studio.
The next day I was lurking in the parking lot to see if she had damaged my car, or was even planning on returning it. She brought it back and it was obvious that she had it washed and waxed. She also let me know she had put petrol in the tank.
My kind of girl. It's a shame she was six years older than me. Oops, what about Nina.
Diana was a quick study on her lines so we were back up to speed on the movie. She brought her dry wit to the set and added some cheeky comments to the script.
She was going to spend the next two days with the wardrobe department and then we would start shooting.
The day was upbeat all around. The good feelings engendered by the pub visit last night continued. One thing was made very clear to me, I wouldn’t be doing any singing in this movie. I was to consider not even singing in the shower.
That evening I drove back to Oxford using a new route. It was scenic and only took ten minutes longer. When I got home Grand Mum showed me an article on the Great Pie War.
Things were getting messy in Cambridge. A certain Baker had put on a night shift baking Cream Pies. He must have been making a fortune.
I made a vow to stay clear of the mess.
Chapter 21
On Monday I went to London to my office to review my Spanish holdings. The audit team had preliminary findings on the ranch's status. While not good it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
It was going to cost several million dollars to bring the operation into A-one condition but it would be spread out over two years. During that time the ranch would have income so only a million and a half of new money would be required.
Considering the damage that could have been done I was getting off lightly. More importan
tly, the lives of those living there would improve dramatically over the next two years.
Amongst the many invoices and receipts were several letters. One of them from the local Bishop of the Catholic Church. It was a request for me to visit him the next time I was in Spain. As I was spending money on the ranch’s school he wanted to discuss how I could help other schools in his diocese.
Mum had called that one. I wasn’t opposed to helping where I could be I also recognized a bottomless pit when I saw it. Maybe a portion of the ranch’s profits could be dedicated to local schools. It would have to be tightly controlled as money like that was very fungible.
If I was going to do that I wouldn’t want to limit it to the Catholic Church schools. Being a milch cow for them wasn’t in my plans.
I had no idea what schooling was like in Spain. This would take some careful investigation before I committed to anything.
It was getting closer to term break and my trip to the various offices of Jackson Enterprises. If nothing else I was looking forward to having the ribbon cutting for the new R&D center.
The center had been finished for months and in operation. Due to my schedule, the grand opening kept being put off.
I contacted the firm building the components to fit in a 707. They were on schedule, and I was welcome to stop by anytime. They were down to the last fittings.
Since I was clearing up old business I gave some thought to the Ferrari in my garage in Oxford. I preferred to drive my Aston Martin. I was going to have pictures taken of the refurbished car with a pretty girl on the bonnet and send it to the Saudi Prince.
Enough time had passed I didn’t care that much so decided to let the issue slide. Maybe this was a sign of maturity.
Since I wasn’t driving the car I should either find another use for it or sell it. After some thought, I decided to have it shipped to Jackson House in the US.
If nothing else it could sit in the garage and torment Denny who was getting closer to the driving age. Not so mature after all.
There was another mystery I had to clear up. What did Mum do in Morocco during the War which was a sore point with Dad, and how did she get there in the first place.